


Fade In Fade Out

by RaraAvis



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: 1913, Angst, Canon, England (Country), F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Homosexuality, Love, M/M, Retelling, Romanticism, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-02 15:15:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14547549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaraAvis/pseuds/RaraAvis
Summary: [CH. 6 and 7 up. I cleaned up some things from previous chapters in the edit.]"For love to end where it begins is far more beautiful..."In every ending there lies a beginning...A minute by minute fic. Merging details from the book and film I attempt to fill in some of the blanks, or''fade-in fade-out''moments that occur before and after certain chapters. Every bit as my mad mind would like to imagine them. Not a novel idea, but this is an exploratory endeavor. Written in 3rd person, leaning mostly towards Alec's POV. Trying my damnedest to remain faithful, but I can't resist poetic liberty, so I may stray from canon. Though some parts are far from explicit, the story will eventually progress there. I so love this pair and I hope it shows. If I have the guts, hopefully this will lead up to a post-boathouse/aftermath story.





	1. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longest. Chapter. Ever. Forgive me! ;_; I hope this installment takes ''colliding with corduroys'' to a new level. Though I adore Alec and Maurice's first encounter in the book, I was not entirely satisfied by the way they are introduced to each other in the film: "Pendersleigh Autumn 1913." I can however appreciate the significance of having Alec's role presumably foreshadowed by him ever-looming (if ever such beauty could ever recede into the background, ha). Take for instance the wedding scene when Alec can be seen out of focus in the crowd, walking just to the right of Maurice (kudos to my sport of a hubby for pointing this out as it is easy to miss the first time). This was in fact the inspiration for this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One small thing: I have Ada worrying about her wedding because unlike in the book, in the film I got the sense that Ada and Chapman were engaged when Clive's own wedding was announced. Maurice says to Ada, "For 2 people in love to marry..." but had he said, "to HAVE married" I would think differently. I apologize for the timeline discrepancy in the event that I've misinterpreted.
> 
> And I'm a fledgling of the fandom, but I know I am in good company with all fans, or "unspeakables." ;-) Admittedly I'm super intimidated by all the amazing writing from other authors—I'm not worthy! I’m flying partially blind and with new wings here so please be nice, eh. FEEDBACK IS VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!

In every ending there lies a beginning; spring to summer, boyhood to manhood, dreams to reality…  

Currently the sun ended sentry, changing places with the moon, and night gave way to the brilliance of a new day.

Panning to the Hall home, its manicured yard was in full bloom and every flower, bug and bird was playing some part in life’s cyclical ballet. There were equally manicured tenants within the tan bricked house, most of which were blissfully ignorant of any environment apart from their own; straight lines in the circle of life, seeming to thrive exclusively on gossip as they chirped freely in the drawing room. 

Maurice however; a circle within the circle of life, stewed alone upstairs, a captive in his tower, painfully aware of the world closing in on him. With his bedroom curtains partially drawn and obscuring the light, he was ever-wilting under the haunting shadows cast by the ghosts of his past.

Parched and awkwardly restrained, he would survive by sips of water, struggling to remember how his glass got there to begin with. Impassively he removed his pajama top and carelessly threw it to the floor, as he stood in the half light in front of his wardrobe mirror. He needed to be sure that he was indeed awake and still breathing.

His bare chest rose and fell rhythmically and a rogue ray of light split his face in two. Even nature would have him a man divided.

From the mirror the spitting image of his father looked back at him.

His father's end should have been the beginning of his manhood, but he had been congenitally cast as a mere figurehead, free to roam the Hall household but for all intents and purposes he was exiled from familial court.

Like his home built brick upon brick by men, so should the social structure be chiefly laid, or so he would believe if he let Dr. Barry's patriarchal influence do the talking. That's all anyone did but _talk, talk, talk_...

Feelings of inadequacy twisted around Maurice’s lungs, forcing out a profound sigh. His golden locks frayed as he rubbed at his eyes. He leaned closer to the mirror, resuming a staring contest with his reflection.

He touched the glass, wondering if to anyone his mood appeared bluer than his eyes, which had glazed over from the night previous, when he nearly drowned by a wine filled cup of comfort—cups of comfort. Ah, so explains the glass... the bed conspired with him and hid the bottle beneath it. He should have to dispose of it discreetly, so not to tip off the maid.

Perhaps by his own design as of late, Maurice allowed himself to be wrecked, would that Clive had not built their love with so decent an exterior but feeble foundation, and all he trusted come crumbling atop him. Yet Clive's soul remained consecrated and free and he was rebuked and trapped under the ruble...

Unconsciously, Maurice had been bringing his grief home with him; it followed him to every room and ate away at the seams. He feared he had gone against his father’s memory and compromised the stability—the sanctity of his home, which like his mind now seemed to him sunken and weakly bolstered by hand-me-down adhesives. No family could outlast weathering in a home improperly mortared and without a strong corner stone. Dr. Barry had, on more than one occasion, implied Maurice had lost his centre and was therefore unfit to even hold himself up. Even without knowing about the indiscretions with his nephew Dickie, and at that moment— disgraced by his lack of self-control—Maurice could not counteract it.  

The giggle he heard from downstairs could only come from Kitty, he wished he could laugh with her, even if it had been at his expense...

Was he to be in emotional arrears for the rest of his adult life?

The mattress on his bed seemed to squeak, " _Yes_ ," as he collapsed onto it, his eyes empty and fixing to the ceiling.

"Pathetic." Maurice groaned, fists hitting the mattress before he shot up. He lunged to open the curtains and the window, desperate to invite the airy scent of yesterday's rainfall into his bedroom, afraid the oxygen was being sucked from around him. Trees talked to each other and tried to remind him that storms always wash away dirty facades and also make the plants take deeper root. He didn't listen— couldn't, too cautiously monitoring the ever-slowing beat of his heavy heart.

Below, in the corner of the front room, Kitty crossed her arms over her ruched chest, her own heart and mouth at full throttle, "I still don't understand why only Maurice was invited...?"

"Now, _now_ , Kitty, the ways of gentlemen are not always clear." Mrs. Hall had been telling herself that ever since she married Mr. Hall, rest his soul, but she was no more convinced by the latest rehashing.

"Nonsense!" Kitty spat, tapping her laced thigh. "It's the way of Anne, I tell you! Have you not noticed that Clive has made himself scarce ever since she entered the picture?"

Mrs. Hall shooed at her, and Kitty uncrossed her legs and huffed with well-honed recalcitrance, before shifting so that her Mother could sit on the couch beside her.

Ada floated into the room: a dainty wallflower, ever weary of being plucked. She watched the corners of her Mother's mouth twitch, and her hands positioned to admonish as she urged, "It is not for us to say. Now, mind your tongue when Morrie comes down."

Kitty took it less to heart than Ada, who was guilted by history, albeit Maurice recently insisting upon the belief that it was ‘’ancient history’’ and should therefore be committed to the past. Still Ada toiled, wondering if her brush with Clive had caused a rift; further proof that she had never taken Maurice quite so seriously. The irony being that like her brother, there lived in her a constant feeling of the undone.

She could do-up her words, at least: "He _has_ been up there _awfully_ long..."

Mrs. Hall stood up, couch cushions displaced. 

"Mother, no..." Ada held her hand out just short of touching her Mother's arm, stopping her from going out the doorway to start another crusade: a bold move for Ada.

"Let him be,’’ She appealed, ‘’I can't help thinking this is such a strange time in his life..." 

"Yes. Can you _imagine_?" Kitty trilled, popping a jelly in her mouth from the coffee table to her right then rising. Her question hung open until she swallowed and hovered by the book shelf, from which she could proudly recite the name of every tenant-book, having read most of them. Whether she applied half of what she absorbed to her life was another story. Paintings and childhood pictures stared back at her from the wall as she went on, "Our little _Morrie_ pretending to be grown up and attending a wedding. Whatever is next?"

"Certainly not _your_ wedding... head so in the clouds..." 

Kitty had expected such a retort from anyone but her very own Mother. Truthfully, Mrs. Hall had more sympathy for HER _Morrie_ trying like hell to make his way in the world, as opposed to Kitty who cared more for the appearance of owning it. But this she never communicated.

Ada failed to hide her tittering under her gloved hand. "Why, _Mother_..."

"Hop on your soap box, then." Kitty stuck her tongue out, looking smarter than she was. "And to follow, at least bring it to the suffragette meetings... no loss for a good cause there."

" _Really._ Bad luck to quarrel on a wedding day." Said Ada, perhaps in worry for what was to become of her own wedding. She surprised herself and clearly the women that gaped at her. Her disapproval was directed mostly at her sister, who shrugged after a minute, sat back down and poked at the bowl of jellies. 

Typical.

With Kitty and her Mother stumped, Ada shook her head and made for the stairs, kiting the conversation with her...

 Maurice had been a slave to this same narrative all his life, feeling like a guest to be dissected in his own house. And then looking at himself in the mirror again, now partially dressed, he felt a guest in his own body. How did it come to this?

A voice came with a knock at his door, "Maurice... I do believe the train leaves in 20 minutes..." 

The train may very well leave and he would be on it…physically, at least. 

He waited until he heard Ada's footsteps fade away from his door before he took a deep breath and adjusted his cufflinks, trying and failing to ignore the memories of having helped Clive with his own.

When he fastened his grey tie he grimaced. It made his pale colouring and starchy collar stand out, but he was too exhausted to change, anyway it was fitting; the ugly noose of the gentry suffocating him on cue.

Ignoring the bolt that shot through his head, he finally slipped into a black tuxedo jacket, pretending it was armor as he steeled himself emotionless. He looked a man dressed for social war; a balanced coalition of abstraction and figuration in an eternal battle fought for order against the world and his own inner chaos.  

He would attend the wedding as expected, and because Clive had the high ground he prepared himself to dodge whatever social bullets might be shot his way. The odds were against him and he did not have much hope to come out alive, knowing full well that overleaping might just send him crashing into a land mine as well. Still, a little voice inside told him not to give up the fight, if he was wounded at least people could follow the trail of blood back to him and he would not be alone. How he hated feeling so desperate. And dramatic. 

He made for the door. Kitty's childish rhyming swirled up the stairs, witchcraft in it... it stole back his mind.  How he heard it: _Someone_ old. _Someone_ new. _Someone_ borrowed. _Someone_ blue. And a lifetime's amount of _sixpence in your shoes..._

Collected on his endless march toward salvation? He should have to bribe God, for a life repossessing traditional rhymes—and even known to butcher a good proverbial here and there—was tragic poetry better left to the "heathen Greeks."

Maurice would descend. His cause: undecided. His purpose: truly unknown. 

But today was _the day_...

***

The blue sky held up the sun, clouds pulled back and swallowed the past, swelling and threatening to rain down memories.

The birds were blissfully unaware, flying above, careless but not aimless in their routine. 

Unlike people, people who clipped their own wings, and expended exorbitant amounts of energy trying to control everything, right down to their environment and fellow man. Alec was a free-bird among the caged, questioning when and why everyone had become so impossibly rigid... especially on a supposed day of wedded bliss. Why count the seconds, minutes, hours, and days and leave little to chance? Ridiculous! He had never even owned a watch, and did not plan on starting anytime soon, how could Durham expect more...?

And yet...that morning at Pendersleigh he prattled on to the masses—(or _Pendersleigh peasants_ as all those concerned jokingly called themselves), ego giving sermon about everything having its proper _time_ and _place_ , ergo he would demand every servant be representative of his family name and the "sanctity of marriage itself." Whatever that meant. And Alec found himself wishing he really was a bird... 

‘’What a day this will be if propriety prevails,’’ Squire Durham had spouted, convinced it would be a day culminating all days before it... because secretly HE needed it so. What Alec needed was to fly miles away, or dive bomb at will, but he also needed a livelihood...

The shadow of new days to come stretched out before everyone's feet. Alec was impervious, months and months into working for the Durhams and every day seemed just like the next. 

At the venue now and an hour into wedding preparations, a permanent all-consuming dark cloud seemed to cast over him. 

When Durham disappeared at his Father in law’s beckoning, boring and bossy talk of floral arrangements was passed on by Simcox who lead the servants to the truck that transported them. 

By miracle Alec managed to break away, already tired from being employed to set up chairs and tables for the reception. And what better place to benefit from further refuge and grace of God than church? 

Well... he hadn't actually stepped inside yet, his blind escape saw him hidden among greenery and aimlessly walking the grounds. According to a certain plaguy Rev. his "sins" and fiery cigarette would be too winning a combination to chance the chapel burning down, anyway.

A murder of crows flew above Alec's capped head and settled on the steeple to chatter and seemingly mock his plight.

  As he rounded the corner, familiar strawberry blonde hair caught the sun just ahead of him. Now seemingly at the front of the church, he realized he must have walked the whole grounds full circle like an athlete in training. What marathon was this?

Alec took his cap off to get at an itch, putting it in his pocket after, hair decidedly in need of air.

Coast clear and no peopled-pestilence in plain sight, he followed the amber light; the girl's halo dimmed the closer he got to her and the further away from the church in which she came, approaching the tree tunnel, its shadows overtaking. 

"You'd be right dishy without tha long face, _Berry_." Alec flicked ash his friend's way, nicotine and cedar scents blended and the girl did not budge, though she could have killed him for the nickname. 

Alec was mighty tempted to lean on a tree, if not for the lecture he was sure he’d get from Durham if any snag in his suit was spotted.

"Please, me face is'na whot I worry fer, it's the rest o' me..." Laney drawled, tugging on a cedar branch and letting it bounce back in Alec's face. "You're out here doin' heavy liftins, but just yah try emotional liftin'. Like a bunch o’ hens wit heads chopped off back thar."

 _There_ , meaning the tight room just off the lobby of the church from which she had escaped from. She guessed it was most likely designed with pious virgins in mind, hence the perfect suitability for Anne and the other stuffy maids, beckoned to convene as per Mrs. Durham’s instructions. Because Anne had taken a strange liking to Laney especially, unconsciously enviable of her unconventionality, Laney found herself unwillingly becoming a sound board, distinguishing truth from lip service was proving tiring.

Alec smirked, stones rolling under his restless feet as he listened.

"Neva seen such a fuss! Barmy liggers on me for fortune tellings about theys _proper love_ and the frivolous-like—does I look like a gypsy!? Then there be that gormless old bitty, carryin' on like we made _Anne-girl_ late, when t'were her _ladyship_ D. sheself who delaying us all—havin' me scramblin' fer her bloody _favourite hat_ fer half the fecking hour afore we even come 'ere!" Laney shook her head.

"So... bad time to ask yer help to find me own cap, hmm?" 

Said cap was yanked from Alec's pocket to hit him in the head, then forced to sit there under the weight of Laney's dubious stare. 

A cackle burst from within Alec as he adjusted his cap and brought the cigarette to his mouth again, saying suggestively after a drag, "Ah, give me a'few minutes with 'em crazy birds and I'll _straighten theys laces_."

His eye brows jumped about as much as Laney did in astonishment and she uttered, "I would neva dream of subjectin' even the worst'a plonker scavengers to tha..."

Smoke swirled around Alec, a sportive laugh coming up and around the cigarette between his teeth...was he really that threatening?

Laney fidgeted, picking at the laced sleeves of what should be her _Sunday_ dress, if ever she willingly bothered with dresses habitually. Or church. It was bad enough she had to wear something so _girly_ and unfairly confining (of ccourse she was only "permitted" to be out of uniform as per Anne's insistence), and then to be expected to run around like a serf in it before God and her employer? 

"Heck, ain't this _wedded business_ every bird's dream?" Alec knew damn right it wasn't, he was aiming for effect. 

Laney stomped, grabbed her flowered skirt from the knees and whipped it like she was taunting a bull. "And this be why yah can'na get one from the hotel bed to tha bridal suite," she joked. After a click of her tongue: "How little yah know! Nary a man in this land smart enough to break a real woman in."

Oh, she was any man's equal, that's for sure, and she nodded as if the entire world was in agreement. Alec not spared, he'd seen many left in her dust. He gave her a drag as peace offering.

In her adolescence Laney held the reputation for "pack leader," a title given as if the neighborhood adults feared their kids grew feral and were not simply banding together for friendship that beat the tedium of poverty. Nevertheless, she was most prone to explore and first to challenge, say, climbing of walls, throwing rocks at bottles etc. And she had even thrown a few punches at any who pestered.

Alec could see the precocious child in her as she fondled the cedars and blew ‘’Os’’ of smoke. 

She had always been petite and he always sensed she felt she needed to compensate with a big personality. Way back when she had been too small to reach the sill where his Ma's wild berry pies would often lay cooling, one particular day she would not stop shadowing Alec until he gave her a leg up. But didn't she slip and split her stubborn little chin open when he did?! And she didn't even cry, even as she was subsequently scolded, but did she ever wear her wounds proudly and defiantly...after stealing a slice.

The hard world expected this, it had taken her mother in childbirth and her Father—slave to the lumber industry—simply lacked the time and energy to teach her any different. He had hoped her position at Pendersleigh would now do that for her...

She was looking at Alec as she handed back his cigarette and he was almost too quick to dispose of it. Nervously shifting his weight, he brought a hand to his cap. His uncharacteristic politeness revolted Laney, but sense reimposed when she realized it was all for the "lovely" Mrs. Durham who now loomed behind. This was not the first swoop of the day for the _she-buzzard_ and it would not be the last.

Half out of the church's maple-carved door— the indoor twittering of other frantic birds escaping—Mrs. "Buzzard" Durham's head stuck out and tossed to the side. And as if magnetized, Alec and Laney felt their feet start to close the space between them.

With her beak up and daggers for eyes she projected, "Laney! Stop your dillydallying this instant! And— _you_ there!" Meaning Alec, who lagged a bit behind. "We do not pay you to fraternize. Ne rien savoir faire de ses dix doigts!" The dip into French did nothing to better foreign relations. Alec wanted to stand taller in defiance but his damn shoulders fell, habitually weighted.  Laney gawked. They would both endure, but never grow used to it.

Lady Durham soared on, the feather in her monstrously large hat bobbing, crows gone quiet above, "Miss Anne does not have all day. Come, _come_ , we must ready her veil..."

Not all day? No, just taking claim to _this_ day. Bad enough!

But far be it by Laney to upset the apple cart... unless the apples were rotten...

She thought on it, and nearly had to pinch herself to think better. Alec intuited as much and nearly did it for her, if not for Simcox buzzing by with fresh dahlias and mouthing an angry prompt to him. A maid whose name escaped him was in tow carrying a bouquet—the scents struck—and silk bows, which comically spilled from her overloaded hands. Mrs. Durham impatiently lead the way back into the church, the door slamming behind.

This may have felt like the end of their patience, aching backs and feet, but it was to be the beginning of someone else's life. Laney’s belief in karma begged she not be the bitter baiter (Alec felt much the same).

With a decisive clap of her hands she yelled, "Oh, _piss it_!" 

Alec snickered, it was all too relatable.

"The damn sky be falling again— Laney to the rescue!" And off she went, determined to be the best veil unraveler possible. If she had a cape it would have flown behind her. For her it was the little things so sustaining, a by-product perhaps of being born and raised until 5 in the slums, since exceeded.

Alec turned on his heels, amused and newly aroused to groom himself in the ramble when—"Jumpin' Jesus! Knock the saints right outta the Heav... _ens_..." 

And knocked he was, by a human force lost totally to his own dark thoughts, eclipsing Alec's own.

The ellipsis swallowed them whole, both newfangled and entwined when spit out.

Raw, undefined and throbbing in the swell, Alec succumbed to the infancy of his legs. It sure as hell was not Laney's elbows he took desperate anchor of then, unless she'd taken to wearing—head forward—a black suit and—head down—black loafers and—head up—was growing...golden stubble?

Alec chanced a look eye level.

His heart stopped—no! Started as blue eyes—a colourful beginning and end in each—possessed and recast the history in his very own. Eyes so strangely stunning, but sad, lost...angry, yet forgiving? And regretful—no, that was behind his own eyes, for when he felt the warmth of a body withdrawing with a step backward, he was fearful he had violated the delicate solemnity of its keeper. An apparent gentleman who remained reservedly cool under this pressure...but not cold, no! Alec could only liken it to the earthy dampness of something freshly uprooting...

The wind rustled the trees and sent shadows into a psychedelic dance. 

This was all happening within seconds, but Alec's mind processed it in slow motion.

Dizzy, he closed his eyes, mouth opening with nothing coming out, futile anyway as the rhythm of his heart sang a peculiar tune—allegro—shooting high then shooting low. And fading out with a breath—sostenuto—dispelled from the equally slack, though clearly far less chapped lips parallel to his own.

And then trumpeting at his side: "Scudder! Mind yourself. We are on church grounds, not at a _gymnasium._ " This bolt of reformation struck between them and his arms were his own again, separating them further.

"Scudder" blinked, closing his mouth. The novelty was gone, but was the moment entirely finished?

A deep breath of warm floral air and Alec was restored to himself. But in a flash the gentleman turned and he watched the back of his blonde head become enveloped by a newly gathered crowd, yet he swayed above the blend: a golden sunflower among reeds. Oh, if it was only ripe for picking...

"We must always be mindful."

Alec's sightless eyes drifted back towards the unwanted address.

"Did David go in blind when he made an example of himself to Goliath? Why, no, he—"

"Yes... well," Alec coughed deliberately. _Goliath_...where had he heard that name? Ah, yes, he began to recall, it had popped up during one of the many bedtime-story readings his Mother had with his niece and nephew... 

Resolute: "If I see a giant I will—" He searched his brain for a "smart" word, "Heed accordin'. As now, mind I'm needed to help slay a big 'nough share of tasks to keep this do a'goin'... good day, sir."

And the medal for sarcasm goes to... Alec bowed his head, walking a wide arch away and around the steadily growing ornamental socialite bouquet, also known as: squire Durham's guests.

The jagged little pill that was forced down his throat dissolved into a sweet gelatinous satisfaction the further away from Reverend Borenius he got. And yet, the intervening blunder of chance which proceeded had not helped to distance him from frustration. The ocean would certainly be enough to swamp such if he was lucky. Was he? Argentine help him!

He was certainly no less dense to his own predicament than Borenius boasted to be of his own. He had a good thing going for him career wise, yet he did not feel obligated to be good to go. Could this attribute to why his parents hardly protested his departure? Was he inherently unimpressionable? Irredeemable? Corrupt? 

For a moment he felt a lamb separated from the fold, but his pride would hardly allow him to crawl up onto the altar with a surrendering " _baah_ " to be slaughtered.

Borenius' eyes never left him, he felt them even as Simcox not so much directed him to attend to needy guests, but demanded it, confirming many a battle was ongoing simultaneously.

Alec put on his game-face, and busied himself with whatever was asked of him so he did not have to ask anything of himself. He began with escorting some tired and elderly attendants to their seats early, and the rest was a blur. 

The jog of events raged on through the day with Olympic pomp. That is, only as far as Alec could imagine the Olympics, having only heard rumors of such things under his roof from his chatty Ma, verified or unverified by Fred and his bragging tales of culture.

Processions, celebrations, social games, image and audience presaged a world he desired no part of. When ‘’Lord’’ and ‘’Lady’’ Durham were pronounced man and wife in front of the decorated congregation, he proclaimed his own indifference. Drifting at the back of the church, near the consecrated water font, with all the other unsaved underlings, he was subject to the scope of, not God, but the self-proclaimed chief justice of the Durham family (who should have been exclusively eyeing his bride but could not help a cautionary side-eye from time to time.)

Not that Alec had much of a choice of where he preferred to be, class structure decreed it that way. He could, in his heart of hearts, never really begrudge naive little Anne of happiness, who had been all peaches and cream towards him, but what did the Durham's really know of happiness or structure, which Alec understood would bring about creation not stagnation...? She was in for it, alright.

The priest rambled his rhetoric in front of the bow laden pews and the sheep occasionally echoed mechanically, at which Laney, devil's advocate that she was, would roll her eyes and make faces Alec's way. But he was preoccupied, looking for a tuft of blonde and wondering if it bowed in prayer because it truly assented or because it was a victim of forced ritual. He really had not the time to think on his own inclinations, nor of his own spiritual prospects, for he sought none more than what nature gave. And there may very well be an unknown that sought him out now.

The organ fumed.

Where was his matrimonial chorus? For earlier, under the witness of world-turned clouds and now in the air-locked embrace of world-borne limestone, he was married twice over to wonder. 

Laney looked at him as if trying to read his mind. He turned to the wall. The church was a Gothic marvel, he had to admit, and he ran his hands along the rough cold stones, admiring the craftsmanship, both of nature and man. The thought was not lost on him that every inch was likely chiseled and erected by a labourer, not unlike himself. He let that sink in and for the first time that day was slightly comforted, feeling less alone.

Voices sang. Bells rang. His feet got happily reacquainted with gravel, and a caressing wind dropped forth from a blue sky...all too quickly polluted by upper class airs.

He'd lost track of Laney in the shuffle, exiting the church was a bit like being a fruit in gelatin: go wherever the mold bends. It wasn't as sticky a situation, but between the landscape of hats, hair, moustaches, and parlour rouge which littered his view, and being sandwiched in by sweaty tweedy shoulders, he had the illusion of being trapped. At least when they packed the pub, usually on Saturdays, the human wedges were sinewy, not stiff of spirit and upper lip. And he would have something sweet to dull his senses there, which right now were being overwhelmed by a clash of sour colognes. He weaseled his way closer to the edge of the mass and his love for open spaces and the great outdoors coalesced into an eye opening dream...

Out of the corner of one eye, a ways to his left, fair hair peaked its way through the abstraction of a wooden arch.

Suave, athletic, tall...oh, he certainly was a gentleman, and Alec hoped not the kind whom he'd grown used to perverting the title.

His stomach lurched.

The way the golden haired gentleman's face did not leave the direction of the "blessed" couple certainly denoted their intimacy. But then, forced smiles, handshakes too demonstrative to be anything but contrived...and not a care how obvious!? And petty Simcox just ahead seemed to take pleasure in the idea that the gentleman looked somehow smaller, as if shrinking under his suit. Deflated? Perhaps at odds... but with what?

Alec bit the inside of his cheek. He must resist the desire to ponder and really look into it, or at him. He could not afford to.

Under the arched gate and passaged toward a new existential crisis, no doubt, they were just a few feet away from each other. Alec distracted himself, entertaining a dull subject with Oliver, one of the Pendersleigh horse grooms, who was yammering on about oncoming cricket season. He would not be lost to the purview of something— _someone_ that did not even have a name...at least known to him.

The sun colluded against him, a shining bright taunt to the bleakness of his outlook, which he determined would remain temporary. But like him the sun served the Durham's well, chasing away the rain which had a mind of its own to have persisted day and night for the past week.

That night the only thing raining would be tears from under a " _golden awning_ ," and out of a breaking heart: the sound of distant thunder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Ne rien savoir faire de ses dix doigts = Literally: Nothing to do with his ten fingers (figuratively: useless)  
> Allegro = fast/quickly/bright  
> Sustenuto = sustained/prolonged  
> The original rhyme: Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a silver sixpence in her shoe.
> 
> ***
> 
> To clarify, I will still feature the greenhouse event— certainly my favourite deleted scene and Ivory's answer to Forster's first "meeting," aka the lock-eyes-from-a-distance-wow-those-maids-are-UGH-but-that-gamekeeper-is-smokin scene, ha! But I am honouring the sequence, and Ivory has it occur after the hunt but before the piano moving.


	2. The Scudders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look inside the Scudder household. Pull up a chair and ready your toast for some black currant jam... side orders of sarcasm, gossip, wit and heart; served up by Laney, Mrs. Scudder and Alec (such a potty mouth!) ;) 
> 
> Boo on Fred, he isn't getting any dinner because he's already eating s*it! Bloody charlatan! Ahem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Scudder does not make much of an appearance and that is deliberate. He is married to his work. Perhaps it is unfair of me to make him so 2D, disgruntled yet indifferent towards Alec...I just figured he was the template for Fred's arseholery, ha! ;) 
> 
> And I know Fred is in trade, I just assumed it was mostly in Argentinian agriculture.
> 
> * edit: * added dialogue, tinkered with the ending

In Mrs. Scudder's experience it really was true: ‘’The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’’ Therefore it should surprise no one, that with three grown men living under the Scudder roof, she was the most popular resident and a true connoisseur of love.

And yet, as she busied away de-stemming currant berries in her kitchen she felt undercut; her husband could be fickle, he might gorge on happiness until bloated, but then tire so easily. He did so this morning, devouring a hearty breakfast made from her love, but showed little love in return before he was off on assignment untold. 

Mrs. Scudder supposed one could not have too much of a good thing on their plate before becoming full to sickness and nursing an urge to leave. If not physically, emotionally. This, according to her daughter in-law, was also true of her eldest son Fred, who had come back to their childhood home during a “much needed” separation. 

Somehow Mrs. Scudder felt responsible; cutting her off at the knees was a fear of never having fed Fred's belly, mind or soul with just the right amount of whatever was precisely needed. Of course this was ludicrous, there was no universal recipe for life, but Fred was not helping her dismay, no longer complaining about his wife but presently reminding her of Alec and insisting he was in for a rude awakening in the Argentine. And though Alec was nothing like Fred or his father, apart from certain appearance, he would be leaving. That much was true.

Fred, clad in a brown suit more expensive than it should have been, looked very much out of place among the mess of assorted goods at the kitchen table. He was picking at the scatter of left-over berries, watching his mother pour handfuls with water into the wooden colander Alec made for her birthday some years back, any excess dirt washed away with a shake. She then added the clean berries to a pot of boiling water hooked over the fire. 

Fred was completely unaware of his Mother's worries, much less his pejorative tone as he wondered aloud, "Why Alec always goes traipsing in the back fields to fetch all these when he could have just as easily got them at the market with everything else is beyond me." 

Much was beyond him. A growing sense of accomplishment gained through volunteering oneself included. He rolled some berries under his fingers, shaking his head.

Mrs. Scudder laughed, "You know yer brother." 

But he did not. 

Fondly: "Oh, I remember a'time when you happily skipped hand an' hand wit him, off on such a search...how many times I ran after you'se kids? I'd find ye diggin' up the pastures and a'plantin just the like, and well into the night! Mother nature held ye so tight in 'er bosom yah never wanted to come in. Oh, but when ye both did you'd always be full handed, excited to share yer fetchings... some neighbors still be half convinced ye was raised by wild dogs or some such...ha!" 

"That was a long time ago," said Fred, as if his Mother should have known better. 

She did not want to, expressing hopefully, "Ahh..times not so different..." 

It was Fred that was different; perhaps still comparable to a dog, but one tamed and sterilized, perhaps. 

She had hoped he was being facetious but knew otherwise when he announced, "It's high time Alec learned to 'harvest' business skills instead! Because times ARE changing, Mother, the sooner we realize it, the better. It is the perogative of the proletariat to commit themselves to the capital. One must abide if we are ever to be ushered into the modern front of globalization." England and its economy would hardly suffer a blow because one less berry bushel was bought and instead farmed by his brother... but Fred certainly acted like it.

Mrs. Scudder had endured many of his oral dissertations and usually silently, but she was ever so tired and hungry... 

She stirred the pot, first literally and then figuratively: "What you be goin' on about," commerce and capitalism as it were but she could not find the words, "...yah puttin' much stock in it, aye? But I don'na sees it producin' much wheres you and Poppy, " his wife, "be concerned. And as far as yer brother goes, nothin' to get yer guts twisted abou, he agreed to yer Argentine idea, remember?" 

She was thinking that maybe if Fred stopped quantifying, slowed life down and picked berries from time to time, instead of trying to control the fate of industry and his brother, he would be content under his own roof. Rather than estranged and sleeping on the couch in his childhood home. 

She had him there. For a moment at least. He squirmed and frowned under her pointed gaze, then shook it off, deciding himself more enlightened. 

"My point is...if everyone in England twiddled their thumbs, who would have a hand in building anything up?" It would be drilled into Alec soon enough. A green thumb hardly made hands ambitious enough to carry the weight of the status quo. Fred never worked with his hands, much less with boots on the ground...

Seeing his Mother's confused face and wanting to shift the spotlight over, Fred asked, "Well...where is that no good brother of mine, anyway?"

Mrs. Scudder sighed and stood up from leaning over the fire, she wiped her hands on her apron and then a few curls from her face before she walked toward the front room windows. 

Low and behold there stood her youngest son across the dirt road, exactly where she knew he would be. She had not lost him yet, nor her intuition. He looked the part of a wren shamelessly chittering to potential mates, clearly engrossed more in the twittering twits than the conversation. 

Mrs. Scudder turned to look at Fred who was apparently just finishing with a sour berry. She pointed the sugar out so he could dip a finger in and have some relief from the tart aftertaste contorting his face and senses.

Grinning, voice bitter and sweet at once, she said, "Chin-wagging with birds, wheres else?" 

Tastebuds back to normal, Fred joined her at the window, observing, "This is what I was trying to tell you...always faffing about...” 

With a disapproving shake of his head, he walked to the corner of the room and sat down heavy into his father’s favourite chair, something that would not be possible if Alec had tried it.

Mrs. Scudder went to the front door, holding it ajar and calling out in much the same way she had done a day prior, and the one before that; “Liccckkky!" 

The gaggle turned towards the voice: "After yah cut the wood did yah fetch the flour and then-some like I asked you, boy?" 

By the bulked up paper bags in Alec’s arms one would think it was obvious, but still she asked. He had been gone for quite some time, and if she knew that half way into his errands he made some new friends easily, who stole him away to bar hop, she would have been worried and a little envious but not impatient.

Alec nodded, saying something to the most well-endowed _friend_ , too far then for Mrs. Scudder to work out, though she had some idea. And then Laney practically dragged Alec, steering him toward the house, while the prissy girls reluctantly strolled away, looking back at Alec smiling and blushing.

Looking forward and talking as he walked: "O'course Ma, goodly like a gopher on it and didn't I bump into Mrs. Carlisle at the market? All frills and fanny that one." Alec winked, gutsy enough to say what everyone thought of Mrs. '' _moll_ " Carlisle. She had always been inappropriate with men, some twice as young as she; yet Alec was the one to get a firm hand slap to the back of his head for vulgarity, compliments of his mother. 

Fully outside now, Mrs. "slap hand" herself was looking around to see if anyone heard Alec, whispering, ''Hold yer tongue, yah mutt...''

Alec, unrepentant, could not suppress a laugh, nor a small bark and pretty soon the two women, who he knew had heard and even said much worse than he, reluctantly had their hands over their mouths trying to fight back their own laughter. 

Mrs. Scudder stretched her back after a minute, laughter trailing; she coughed, feeling a bit ashamed but at the same time thankful for the levity. Inhaling, she tasted a hint of autumn twirling under a summer breeze flirting with _flora_ that was clearly ready for a fresh _costume_ change. It was nearing mid-August. 

Just up the way another of their neighbors, old Mr. Bolton, was bumbling about. Everyone greeted him with nervous side-waves.

Alec thought it the perfect time to run the groceries into the house, with no offer of help from Fred when he entered, who was preoccupied counting his money.

When Alec returned outside he continued as if he hadn’t stopped talking, "She said to remind yah that her sister be comin’ and she be towin' the whole Carlisle lot wit her, stayin' some for little Lizzie's christening, so the card game can’na happen at her gaff this round." 

Every Scudder knew what it was to have a house overflowing. They also knew that the news would make Mr. ''cuckold'' Carlisle a happy man, he took all the opportunities to tie his wife down that he could get. 

Small town. Big gossip.

Alec's eyes jumped from his house, to the hem of his mother’s apron clearly frayed from overuse and finally to her eyes; admiring her as a faithful woman.

"Drats!" Mrs. Scudder scrunched her nose, not that she did not feel for Mr. Carlisle, or want to celebrate her chum's niece, but without the familiar comfort of cards it would mean one less thing to help her blow off steam and distract her from Fred's failing marriage and Alec's impending departure. 

Alec's need to keep things light was just as great: "Ahh, save yah from bein' gutted...you oughter see it as a sign and take the time to practice, hmm," he kidded. Playing cards was one of his mother’s past times and though she would deny it, she was hardly a card shark. That is not to say her knowledge of games was not vast. 

She wagged her finger at her son, who was doing his best impression of a dealer shuffling imaginary cards. 

"That so, boy?! Mrs. Scudder guffawed. “Who’s leg yah pulling? I remember somes bein' 3 in the hole since the last time he were beat and a 'sainted' lady had'ta spot him..."

Alec was quick to redirect her thoughts, "All part of me plan: fooled you'se into thinkin' I know jack-all of the game and next game I take yah for all yer worth.” He grinned, very proud of his quick thinking. “Lose some to win some, like. Just needed to see if it would work afore I take it on the road..."

Incorrigible.

Laney was unusually quiet, what was unfolding was very familiar to her. She felt like a part of the family, being in on the inside jokes. It was strange and wonderful being trusted to peer into such casually intimate windows of their lives. And yet...in order to remain composed she must ignore the ache that sprung up, reminding her of what she’d never have with her own Mother. 

"Ah, life is a hustle..." said Alec, rhetorically. 

It was at that precise moment that Fred had the unfortunate timing to walk out and overhear Alec. He had cashed in a lot of chips to secure him a job overseas and was already weary...

All prickles and thorns: "Spoken like a true swindler." 

"Ha! And you, no truer wet rag." Alec snorted, tired of always having to explain his humour. 

Mrs. Scudder inched closer, readying herself to play peacemaker. 

But she would not need to. Her darling younger son had a knack for taking the reins and leading back to what mattered most. 

Fred leered as Alec planted kisses on his Mother’s cheek, leaning back to bat those big puppy dogs eyes she could never resist. Truthfully: "How's that—all thanks to you Ma, else I wouldn’t know a chip," poker chip that is, "...from a pence...much less'o anythin' else." 

He cupped his mouth and hollered for the entire neighborhood to hear, "No finer Mum in all of good ole England!" 

Just one neighbor actually did overhear, and he was entertained and shaking his head as he dead-headed some flowers. 

Fred rolled his eyes, pinching Alec’s arm and accusing him of "over-egging the pudding." At which Alec winced and swat, as Laney and Mrs. Scudder shared a mutual look. 

"I'm yer ONLY Ma cuz nones else be crazy enough to have you," alleged the one and only Mother Scudder. But she could hardly begrudge Alec of his cleverness, she pinched his cheek.

Fred "pooh-poohed" in the push of tough love: "You should really crack eggs over his nog... maybe that'll knock sense into him..." 

Right on cue.

"Ha! You would'na have the yolk to do it." Alec scoffed, elbowing Laney in the process, expecting congratulations for a pun well done. 

Laney looked for sympathy in Mrs. Scudder, but she was helplessly caught in a giggle fit.

Alec genuinely wanted to please her, suggesting, "I'm tha grateful, really. If'n yah ever recover from yer fit, ha, how's about I help with the bread later and we call it evens?"

It was not really necessary, Alec may have been scatter brained and fanciful but he had proven to be there when it counted. Today was no different, he got to everything asked of him thus far, and though it might not have happened exactly as Mrs. Scudder would have liked, he put his heart into it, which is what distinguished him from the other Scudder men. Feeling a little less undercut but more-so nostalgic, Mrs. Scudder smiled, sadly. It was hard for Alec to see.

Who would break bread with her after Alec parted, or make up silly songs that made fun of their day, and dances with steps that poked fun at their neighbors' posture...? Loneliness and the dread of a potentially empty house crept up and Mrs. Scudder went soft, wondering, "Will you introduce me to yer new friends sometime...?" If she was to see Alec's friends around, she was to keep a part of him still in England.

Despite herself, Laney let out a "Ha," looking at Alec then back at Mrs. Scudder who at first did not follow, until Laney attached the thought: " 'fraid you'se need ta add more days in the week if'n you want'ta meet all he new friends, ma'am..." Though she really could tell Alec was surprised and elated by the invitation.

In defense of gregariousness, Alec asked cheekily, "Would you rather I be summat of a hermit?" 

Mrs. Scudder would certainly not. The very idea that her son was so social would mean one less thing to worry about when he embarked overseas. And yet, she found herself worrying whether he would have anyone, one TRUE friend, to truly confide in.

Fred, whose only "friends" were on his payroll, sneered as he all but shoved Alec to the side, whispering something smart to his mother, not to genuinely soothe her as Alec had, but to try to win her favour. She had been looking at Alec so at first she was taken aback, but the more Fred waxed the more impressionable she became.

Fred thought his mother was discreet enough that Alec would not notice money slipping between them, but she was not. A sheepish grin spreading was proof enough to Alec that as per usual his mother, even with all her object preachings, had fallen for Fred’s deceiving charm. He never had to work for attention. Respect he simply bought... always some price for someone else to pay. 

Mrs. Scudder was just about to ask of her husband, assuming he had called on Fred to help him with a delivery earlier, when the soothing smell of peat wafted from neighboring chimneys. 

Total recall: “Shite! The currant!” She cried, nearly forgetting the jam over the fire, likely burning now. With a peck to Fred’s cheek and a goodbye wave to Laney, she rushed back into the house to add finishing ingredients, giving Fred a chance to take off his mask and flaunt his true colours. 

He wasted no time looking Alec up and down with disdain as he shoved shoulders with him, then looked toward Laney who knew from experience what was coming. 

Fred asked, "What do you see in this trouble maker?" 

Laney returned the look, circling Fred like a vulture, eyes going up and down in inspection. Low and sarcastic: "Alls us neighborhood girls be wonderin' whot yer wife see in you, actually. Pray hard ta tell what makes yah a man without no proper magnifyin' glass!" With a nod to Alec and a satisfied laugh she turned and left both men left slack jawed as they watched her saunter off toward her home, but her words stayed put and echoed.

"Judas priest!" Alec gasped. And with a sympathetic pat to his brother's back: "She has you there, well, whot little of yah left... ha ha!" 

This was a record perpetually turning. Having barely recovered from the sibling brawl they had a day previous, Alec was thankful Laney would be the one to dole it out. But if he thought he would get a rest he was sorely mistaken. Living under the same roof again, though only temporarily, had opened old doors of memory and wounds along with them. 

Fred spun around and shook his head in disbelief, "It looks like your talent stretches beyond idle flirting... you have corrupted the girl to the point of no return.” 

Intellectually "talented" enough not to take the bait, Alec stood calm and collected, but his mind screamed of how little Fred knew. No one could be corrupted unless they gave permission, and Laney would hardly consent to it.

Fred took one last look at the back of Laney before turning to seek out his eyes, lecturing, “Alec, understand that to keep such company in the Argentine would not be seemly. One must always associate with those of higher standards, to give one something to aspire to. Precisely why I have arranged for you to be received by the same gentleman who helped condition me into something better.” 

He carried on about what to do and say, and what not to do and say; all the while disguising his accent as if it would disguise his origins, image managing to the point of Alec’s disgust. Alec's mind stuck on ''condition'', Fred might have been happy to be programmed like a machine, all in the name of ass kissing and profit, but he was certainly not.

As if clairvoyant Fred said, “If not for your sake, do try to understand this for mine."

Alec shifted. A cold wind would start up again soon, he felt sure. He would play to no one and scoffed, ‘’Ahh, the noble art of diversion…what a load of codswallop!’'

The hope of Alec's future assimilation made it easier for Fred to let the offence slide, and yet his expression still soured. He knew what the world was like, at least he thought so, and if he did not teach Alec who would have the patience to? This of course said less about Alec and more about Fred.

Alec was not made of stone: ‘’No one is more thankful than me for whot yah set up in the Argentine... really now Fred, awful good on yah for mindin' me future. But good it can'na keep if'n you don't trust it—trust me.'’ His voice rattled and nearly cracked, the truth in it made him feel uneasy. ‘’If anyone be actin' below theyselves it’s you, expectin' the worst in eryone..." He wanted to add "everyone who isn't like you." But did not, opting instead to focus directly on: "Laney...always knowed her to be a good bird, tough and stubborn as nails but she's a good heart. And Ma and Da isn’t made of money...and still you…’’ 

Bewildered, Fred broke from the conversation, dismissing Alec’s insight before he even had a chance to finish. If he HAD finished it would not have been out of hate but concern. He did not like how, despite joking of swindling, they were indeed guilty of leaning on their mother. Fred taking even more advantage and bribing her was salt to the wound. A bribe mind you, that would progress into investments in an open ended trade exploiting others like her along the way. All the while Fred knowing that if his father found out, his mother would be made example of. 

Alec was justified in worrying there would be little return. His brother was always quick to boast of the spoils of capitalism but he was at the top, and despite all of what his dealings procured, very little was trickling down for the Scudder household to benefit from. Where were the hordes of corn, soy, wines, seal pelts and the Argentine-export-like?

The sun was beginning to wane. Fred was beginning to waver. Couldn't have that. He bolted, off to eat out though he knew his Mother would be preparing something, Alec not quite knowing what to do as he watched him turn to walk backwards, waving and sporting a shit-eating grin. It was very unusual for Fred to prove Alec right... 

*** 

Bread making came easy for Alec later, he put all his frustrations into kneading, and to his Mother's delight churned out quite a few decent loaves. He never thought kitchen work was specific to gender; it was just another way to hone practical skills and spend more time with all those involved, this time his Mother. As of late it had become an odd form of therapy, as well.

Mr. Scudder returned home nervy that night. He brushed his wife off when she tried to tell him of her and Alec’s brush with flour, but coloured enough to prove him human at mention, and then eventually the late night druken appearance of, Fred. 

After a day of errands and chores and defending his honour, Alec knew the quiet of his bedroom and the spoils of his labour would set him up. With rumours of visitors coming to Pendersleigh he anticipated that he would have a few big days ahead of him, so he should have to indulge tomorrow...if he was cunning enough to ditch church, but he really did not want to upset his "good Christian'' mum. 

Tonight he would turn in early...

But if it was not the reprimand from his brother persistent in keeping him up late, it was impossible thoughts; his subconscious was singing off key to the tune of deep confusion. 

He wanted to release tension when his new "friends" called on him earlier that day, but the surrounding air went stale and thick much too quickly. Ever since Durham's wedding he had felt a shift in the air. No matter how much he would inhale, his lungs refused to fill. Logic, he feared, had vacated with the loss of oxygen to his brain...

He would gladly travel anywhere to drink in new air, run, arms flailing at obstructions, pushing himself until his legs burned and beg he fall comfortably into the dizzying exhaustion that comes from traversing your heart and committing it to the expanding future (and ideally, the cosmos). 

He should have thought only of his future journey to the Argentine then, but strangely his mind's eye saw him crash into a certain golden haired gentleman. Breathless again. He tried to shake it off but the memory refused to fade. Science could not explain why no significant words had passed between them that day, yet his body had said something he could not forget. The tuning fork was hit and vibrating. 

Alec closed his eyes, pulling the pillow around his ears. Still it resounded through him: an untranslated message burrowing into his pores, lying in wait until liberated. Whoever laid ear to his skin would hear it; his very own Symphony _Pathétique._

He wanted sleep. He wanted silence. But in the movement his soul had turned over and struck an endless cord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure hope I am nailing the slang, otherwise you can nail me to the wall, ha. I am but a lowly Canadian—hence the spelling— so I urge you to be gentle and cut me some slack if you can. ;)


	3. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearts and guns go boom—Maurice tries to cure himself (anticipating Lasker Jones' prescription: ''Stroll around with a gun'' ? lol) and fails because Alec is on him lock, stock and barrel! Then into the forest of infatuation they go... well...at least after navigating through all the vines of propriety that grow—to choke—about Pendersleigh. 
> 
> Damnation, class barriers and insecurities do not make things easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then the hunt itself...well, leading up to the hunt. I left all the gory details up to your imagination because the movie pretty much deals with most of it (oh it was very hard to resist writing a gun malfunction that would take off Archie's big ole head, and if Fred had been there, his too! Haha).
> 
> From ''gentleman'' to ''golden boy'' to 'Mr. Hall'...ugh, Alec, hurry up ~~and let the flames lick you~~ and get to know MAURICE so I can use his proper name already! ;-)
> 
> *edit: just realized I had Alec reference September rather than August, silly me! Fixed!

_Man's best friend_...what kind of friend drools, steals your sandwich, sits on your feet until numb and begs for a scratch to boot?

Having just returned from the kennels, Alec was in a personal battle with dog fur. It would seem he was now wearing more of it than corduroy. He brushed at his legs, looking annoyed, practically crossing his eyes watching bunch by bunch float to the ground. But he wasn't fooling anyone, he loved those mutts, he'd certainly spent enough time with them. Sure Mrs. Durham would spoil them during dinner to entertain guests, but did she care enough to tend them daily? 

Did she tend anything? 

Alec coughed, dog hair unpleasantly finding his mouth. He had to chuckle to himself, peculiarly amused-like, realizing he might take strange joy in knowing a physical piece of his canine friends could be carried with him after impact... which is more than he could say for half his human interactions/relationships.

Although earlier he had been on the receiving end of a ‘’furtive stare,’’ shot forth like a canon from a man in an approaching carriage coming up the drive. It proved to be equal in alighting peculiar beliefs. Abominably gobsmacked, Milly all but toppled Alec over trying to hide, her nails scratching reality back into him as she cowered behind. Alec recovered only to tip his hat in mock congratulation of a game acknowledged and spoiled.

Would that Alec ever associate with someone as smug as this onlooking passenger, he should have to invest in more hats... which after another shared gaze and a curious kick to cognition, did not feel so bad. Nor coincidental. The head that would hold up such hats housed a memory inside which felt strangely responsible for sketching this daring golden-haired _Adonis_ on par with the sun, who cleansed the world with a ‘’cruel and respectable’’ blaze as he descended on Pendersleigh. Somewhere in time Alec had known him, and time would somehow remind him, yet, how could it—

"Morning, Alec!" 

Alec jumped, taken aback by...the gardener?

Startled and a bit shaky: "You should be the eyes n' ears of His Majesty, the way yah comin' up all stealthy-like!" Had Alec still been with the dogs they would have at least barked a warning. 

It was common knowledge among the help that Cecil could pass for the phantom of Pendersleigh, with his strange ability to blend unnoticed then appear out of nowhere. It should not have surprised Alec when Cecil’s voice came with the wind around him. Alec’s senses had been bleached, going blond along with a certain gentleman; his mind obdurate and fixating... 

Cecil blinked at Alec. On the level: "Before he left did Mr. Durham ask you to clear some of the brush overgrowth and your traps for the hunt? He didn't give me much instruction, and we know what that means..." 

Yes, a fresh Hell would open: Simcox and Ayres would be holding the reins. 

From out of his pocket Cecil tossed an apple Alec's way. 

Alec, oddly not prepared, fumbled some before getting it firmly in hand and then he rubbed it on his arm. 

Green, his favourite! 

Cecil smiled from under his hat, thumbing his vest, his white shirt poking out from underneath smelling of sweat and pine. 

At 45 he was certainly not the oldest employee, but he was fairly set in his ways and secretly liked to set the tone. Had his wife not been tragically barren, he may not have had such affection for life, right down to the blooms but his reasons were rarely questioned. Alec had once caught him talking to the plants in the greenhouse. He was more subtle with people, especially Alec, whom he had parental-like affection for. His ability to know when hunger struck was uncanny. Alec was convinced he was trying to stuff him up good in case he needed a floating chance, should he fall overboard on his voyage. 

Between chews, Alec began, defensively though lacking real harshness, "Durham was on abou' it yesterday...so Ayres had me jump headlong into all tha' at first light, n' I collected a bur patch on me arse to prove it! Would'na have to scramble so, if I didn'na have'ta pick up so much bleedin' slack..." 

It wasn't really Cecil that got under Alec's skin; the man was more docile than a sloth, and quite a bit more useful. And he knew enough not to push more because: "All for his _royalness_...who could'na be bothered to babysit his own cronies hisself... _ole ‘Mother Scudder’_ at yer service, yes'n, sir!" Alec saluted at an imaginary squire, mockingly. Not that he really wanted to be liable should one of Durham's rich friends end up ass over tea kettle into a deer hole...

Cecil laughed nervously, "Well, uh...now, surely sorry to see you swamped. Only hope is in the visitors having a short stay, hmm...?" 

"Ahh, matters not, gonna feel like a life sentence still..."

"Yes, with _Lords_ Simcox and Ayres having us all runnin' ragged..." Cecil nodded, finishing Alec's sentence, "On like its their house... you know Simcox lectured me this morning about the broken window in the greenhouse again. How can I repair it if there's no glass to do it with? Does he expect it to come out me own pocket? Oh, you know how it goes..."

"Wishin' I sure as hell didn't. Tis why I'm sneakin' as many breaks in whiles I can..." 

"Milly isn't going to give you much break either..." 

This did not surprise or excite Alec as much as it perhaps should have. 

"Tread softy hmm...the girl was looking for you...on about unfinished business..." Cecil tried hard not to grin, "And uh, she stole the last of my chocolate...otherwise..." 

Alec flapped him away, though it looked to him like something else was on his mind, but it was too late, he had already disappeared into the greenery. There was a comforting irony that a gardener should be allowed to creep the grounds like ivy, unmindful of its own affect and range. Alec sighed. Cecil would take up the sheers in the main garden and prune his misguided guilt away at a steady pace until something came to prune his time. 

There was nothing steadying Alec. The overcast bloated his brain. The wind messed his fringe and flash blinded him periodically. The rain sogged his bones. But he knew enough that Mother Nature was just a'trot in her cycles and not purposely pricking at human nerves. But how to convince Durham's comrades...? With Ayres attending to deeper woods elsewhere, it would be his job alone. Ontop of it all he'd have to keep Mills from clinging and distracting him. 

Stalking off toward the game room at the back of the house, Alec stopped short of the door and prepared for the worse. Manly voices seeped through. With a deep breath he broke through the seal and recycled air hit him. 

The door clicked shut with the finality of a cocked gun. Mr. London turned toward the noise, and a scoff shot forth from him. 

Another gentleman stood beside him. Even from behind he was unmistakable. 

Luck had proven Alec’s lady, as the gentleman turned he knew saints had preserved—it WAS _him_ , overshadowing Mr. London as he looked on. Not as dressed up as he was at the wedding, but he still wore the same beautiful but forlorn face. How could he not have placed it when it peeked out from the carriage earlier?

Plain clothes somehow made his natural handsomeness more pronounced. Goodbye breath! The idea that a "golden boy" could make the value of all other people depreciate at first sight truly rubbed Alec the wrong way, and yet looking at him he found it hard to believe in anything less. He wondered if the man thought souls were like precious metals... 

Alec's head dropped in apology for his hasty entry, but his eyes remained level. He wanted to believe the gentleman would not have broken the stare should Mr. London not have cleverly interposed, ‘’In with a _bang_ —now how about out? Dare we choose our weapons, old man?’’ 

The gentleman simpered and nodded, decidedly more interested in the arsenal Alec had laid on the table earlier. He was instantly taken to the bolt-action Alec had only procured with the intention to fix, and so lost down life’s ‘’blind alley’’ he did not notice every inch of him was being lapped up and dragged under the microscope for Alec’s mind’s eye to analyze. 

Alec was sure this man was used to people needlessly drudging up pseudo-intellectual scum from the ponds of conversation. He should therefore be careful not to disturb the already fragile social fabric. But he was not a bottom feeder, he had to produce his own bait. 

He cleared his throat and tapped his cap in friendly endearment, "Begging your pardon, sir. Might I suggest this one?" He came up beside and pointed. "That other one got a tick—meaning'ta say, the trigger sticks summat fierce." He neglected to tell him that a malfunction was unusual for this gun and he suspected Durham and his misuse had attributed to its issues. 

"Right." 

Not exactly the wonderful first response Alec had hoped for, but it was a validation of existence that distinguished him from say, the crack on the floor beneath them, at the very least.

The blond looked at the bolt gun as if it had punished him with purpose and Alec wondered what it was like to brood though the world was at your feet. He found it a little petty, still his fascination remained unchanged. 

He rather liked the advantage of being the one to reassure, so reassure he did: "Good eye though, sir. Always a first choice o' mine too. Much more accurate n' strong with a one piece stock. Can sit it out trailin' wit _her_ fer hours before I feels it, what she's so light, as I'm sure you well know, sir. Mild recoil too, so me shoulders don't get no proper beatin', that's how I knowed she isn't no _real_ girl...ha!" 

*** 

Maurice knew little of guns and even less of _real_ girls, nor did he care to. Still, his reaction was far more diluted than Mr. London's, who looked ready to involve parliament, having heard a servant speak so unabashedly "out of turn." He was reminded of Pippa's nurse, who had the effrontery to question them on more than one occasion, he should have to take it up with Durham and Maurice in private later. 

*** 

Alec would have seen the extent of Mr. London's distaste had his eyes ever left the gentleman, who was certain this gamekeeper would not feel so inclined had Durham been there. Such were the occupational hazards of abandonment.

"Oh, not a fortnight ago I was in real deep with the woods," reflected Alec, ignoring blue eyed blankness. "Back where 'em roots run wild, all a'twisting above ground, what competin' for space, not usual for boots to be treadin' and trampling there, you see, so nests of 'em cotton tailed buggers spread mad too, along wit 'em birds and deer and alls else spit from Mother Nature's big ole womb, so makes sense 'em poachers think it all good cover there but, well, they don't know me... the bolt's long-range meaning I can keep distant and still scare the pants off 'em with a good blast, ha! Oh... this ole girl," he pat the gun with more trust than he would a man, unknowingly defining himself, saying, "Steady as she goes... "

Looking at each other then, a log succumbed to the fire with a gasp, crackle and thud, shocking them both back to its attention. 

Mr. London was aching to suggest, in quite a huff, that Alec take action, but the man in question beat him to it, and shinnied to the hearth. He rummaged around on his knees, poking and fanning the fire until his hands itched. Small graces. Alec had not realized how much his tongue itched as well, persuaded by the informality of a hunt, Heaven knows just how long he would have "inappropriately" yapped had duty not called... 

Standing up, he brushed soot from his clothes, repressing a sneeze in the process. Mr. London practically knocked into him on his lordly stroll to the adjoining door, where he leaned out to bark an order at Simcox. The blue eyed witness remained silent, watching then returning to his tour of guns, perusing as Alec came around to the other side, picked up the bolt gun and inspected its barrel. 

"Wishin' I had more to suggest as alternate, sir," said Alec, who won a look of silent understanding from over the barrel, it was no secret how fixed and frugal Durham was. 

"Also wishin' more game was in season..." Alec all but sighed. Had it been September there would be easier targets, with land preferring birds like grouse and partridge in season, but it being early August they were left with little choice, so Alec could only hope the gentleman had practice. The gun would have less to do with success than planning, a keen eye and know-how, but that was not something this gentleman looked ready to hear. 

Comfortable with his inspection, Alec held the gun in both hands casually and tried to make some excuse of a joke: "But it isn't like the gun type matters to 'em cotton tails, anyroad...nothin' will matter to 'em after we done wit 'em, sir. Strange how their unluck be our luck...and who could'na use a lucky rabbit's foot...?" 

*** 

Indeed, thought Maurice, but repressed any further thoughts, why should his luck or lack there of be a gamekeeper's business?

*** 

Not that they had much chance with rabbits on the run anyway, much too stealthy for beginners, there was more success rooting them out of their dens and capitalizing with the element of surprise. Alas, that would take patience and this Archie fellow that Alec had known from before—who now scrambled to put on a trench coat fetched by Simcox and other improper gear that would surely impede his efforts— did not strike Alec as willing to abide. He would have to chase out some rabbits himself to satisfy. At the very least, net some ferrets. Either way it was not lost on him that they would be doing Durham a favour in population control. 

Alec resigned, "They will scamper rapid, but providin' we stalk right, no faster than we. Been around long enou to know a few good trails we can use to keep ahead of 'em." 

What luck, the rabbit's foot was uneeded thus far, Mr. London's gentleman friend seemed much obliged by Alec's attention to detail. Or he at least feigned it, trying to mask his own lack of experience, or perhaps enthusiasm? 

"Thank you...?" 

Alec rested the dud gun against the far wall then returned to inspect its peers, but first acknowledging firmly, "Scudder, sir." 

There was room for a faint smile to move into the blue eyes that scanned Alec, but whether it made it there or not mattered little to Alec, he simply felt incredible being seen. 

If he would be forced to wade through blood shed for mindless distraction, "recreation" as Mr. London called it, Alec would be damned if he couldn't imprint upon this man his keen knowledge, or at least some semblance of fascination. Perhaps it would not be comparable to all that was seizing him, but he hoped it would be something that would settle at the back of the gentleman’s mind and surprise him later. 

Archie, glib as can be: "I suppose he'll be picking out your cap next..."

The gentleman thought the comment unnecessary but pursued a further look rather than a thought. Alec, holding another gun, failed to disguise his side eye, which cut into the gentleman's, but when Archie pat the gentleman’s shoulder his eyes fell away. 

Archie, inveterate and nosy: "Well, Hall..." With another unwanted pat to ‘’Hall's’’ back, "What does your lady think of today's lark, hmm?" 

_Mr. Hall._

Hall: _"a long passage with doors that open into rooms on both sides of it. A place of meetings. A passageway; corridor."_

Alec did not typically put much stock into names, but this time he so longed for there to be something to the definition. 

Hall, blankly: "...no lady to speak of." 

Alec sorted through shells and slugs and arranged them carefully in his shoulder-sack, showing no interest in the conversation, but really he was remarkably relieved to hear Hall say what he had. 

Archie chose his fire arm as if God had directed him, holding it proudly against his shoulder, exclaiming, "Ahh, a free spirit among us, jolly good old man! I stand accused of animal cruelty by Pippa, dare say..." As he walked around the table, finger tapping against the gun stock: "But jolly kick to the adrenaline—a hunt—wouldn't you agree? Should like to draw it out for as long as we can."

*** 

Maurice never really thought about hunting as any more than a means for the blowhardy, to literally blow off steam. He was sure there existed some people who actually survived from it... possibly one of them was among them. That in and of itself made this ‘’Scudder’’—was it?—the odd man out. And yet, he didn't appear out of sorts at all, thought Maurice, when he deigned to pay the servant mind. In fact, he seemed enviably at one with the baser situation… 

The universe arranged it so a servant would not even be disillusioned—and surely not as long as he had been and by another man, no less? How fate appalled Maurice. He could almost sympathize with the poor furry bastards whose fate would be similarly foretold. Yet somehow his guilt was assuaged by the idea that some hunters took only as much from their victims and from nature as they would give back. 

Alas, he could not be sure there was much of anything still left of himself to give. 

*** 

"If’n I may be frank, sir..." 

Nonplussed, Archie turned toward the voice as if Alec had only just materialized out of thin air. Hall seemed unfazed. 

"We best get out quick if you wanting to make good of the weather..." He threw the sack over his shoulder and closed the flap. "I tended the trails as much I could, yet rains come a’muckin' up good, and a fog be sure to follow, so though it best be smart to give extra time to mind our footin' we ought not dawdle too much." Hall was being addressed primarily; it battered all sense of propriety, though with Clive abandoning him for the day it did feel good to be paid attention to, disregarding social strata, of course. 

Archie, terse and disapproving: "We will keep to a gentlemen’s pace. Thank you." 

*** 

Maurice had no idea what Archie truly meant by that, but Archie looked at him as if it had been universally decided on by the bar. It chaffed. Was he to be consigned to oblivion at ‘’a gentlemen's pace?’’ Had he pined for three agonizing years, turned a hopeless wastrel discarded ‘’at a gentlemen's pace?’’ Had he a whole life time ahead of questioning his sanity ‘’at gentlemen's pace?’’ 

*** 

Mislaid by derision he absentmindedly misguided his foot and stumbled back. Had Alec not miraculously righted him by the elbows, then wordlessly steered him around, he'd have fallen into the chair rather than clip it.

The fire crackled. Both men felt the flames lick them. 

Alec thought he heard Hall utter ‘’déjà vu’’ but he could not be sure, for Hall scurried away out the door in a fluster. Alec again left to stare at the back of a head that made the front of his own sweat over the wish to truly see inside it, if only for a second. But if he was being honest with himself he would take what he could get, and the idea that Hall perhaps remembered their previous encounter was simply blinding.

The door swung as Archie ran out, hot on Hall's trail, summoning a cool breeze into the room, and a coniferous message both scented and resonate: the woods were alive and ready. Any musty air around Alec lost to vacuity. His nerves tingled and throbbed in the pause. 

He held the door open with one arm. Creatures bestirred a half mile from where he stood, green leafy curtains pulling back to reveal their mid-morning play, flora, glossy and curling, embedding a path. But he always knew the way. 

Alec’s euphoric bubble remained unpunctured as Archie yelled after Hall, "First kill of the day: your dignity. I say, mighty hard to top, old man." 

Alec's bag weighed on him and the bullets began to vibrate and burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough one to write, only because the animal activist in me despises hunting, ha! Hence why I may have cut things short. 
> 
> I hope my bias is not too pronounced, though it should say something of my love for Alec, for me to be able to overlook it. Ahem. ;) (Kids, do as I say not as I do, it is not recommended to ditch your principles/values for anyone! ;-) )
> 
> Also, I tried to pay subtle homage to the ''lock eyes as Maurice drives up scene'' because it felt right to have A and M "meet'' at Pendersleigh thus, as Forster intended...and one can never have too many scenes-though brief-that prove gaydar is real. HAHA!


	4. The Daily Grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When boss Durham is away, the Pendersleigh staff will procrastinate! Just a little interlude before things get heady again. Oh...chicks, foxes and wheelbarrows(!?), oh my. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS to everyone who has given me kudos and made my insecure heart grow a little bigger! ;) Comments are also love!

Alec’s mission was plain: get through the day in one piece, one task at a time. 

Midway through and already he was failing. 

The hunt had been a disappointment, as he feared the yield was hindered by the weather, exacerbated by the obstinacy of one Archie London. How a man’s neck could possibly hold up such a full head was beyond Alec. 

Not only did Mr. London hog what little catch his ceaseless nattering miraculously did not scare away—catch which Alec attempted to lure for Mr. Hall as indiscreetly as he could—but he insisted on undermining step by step. He tried to play lead scout, going this way and that way but really—out of the way. Had Alec not finally intervened a search party might have been sent.

And on Mr. Hall’s birthday no less, even as London subsequently raised a glass to him—Alec cleaning the guns in the background—he proceeded to boast about his own accomplishments.

If Alec was forced to further ingratiate himself, scudding around to show off Durham’s wealth to impress any more of his shallow friends—as if there was nothing better to do—he should have to stoop to hiding his own flasked "Chisky" and toast escapism hourly. A generous drink could have served him dualy then, actually, dulling the sting of blisters which formed alongside the holes in his fraying socks. The chafing leather of his very much loved but overused boots had certainly influenced his pace on his walk to work that morning, nearly making him late. He would have attended to this had domestic pressures not sent him prematurely on his way... 

Alec could not, however, fault the universe entire; it had been on his side presenting Mr. Hall. Still, with the ill timing, it all began to reek of some cruel design.

Akin to the design of the wheelbarrow he was pushing, allied against him with the weather all afternoon, the wheel of it loose and causing him great difficulty slipping in the mud. At least he had had some success with traps and deer holes allotted to be re-dug before the rainy deluge. 

At no point that day did Alec believe he would find himself blessed with totally dry feet, dejected, he adjusted to maneuver around a flower bed, swearing, he kicked the wheel until it budged. His refrain of frustration spooked a fox from out of her hiding place in one of the nearby hedges, and she bolted; a streak of soft orange dying a line through the field. Alec should have been more disappointed that she—most likely the predator responsible for the coop attack he begrudgingly cleaned after that mornings hunt—should have eluded him. But her cunning actually made him envious. He stopped to breathe in the gifted cool breeze that rolled in with a much needed break in the rain, and he began to feel petty to have weaved such a litany of complaints, concisely he revised his reckonings. 

Emerging from the forest he had spotted Cecil again, abandoning gardening tools and tasks as he was pulled by Ayres into helping the horse grooms, for what Alec assumed was in preparation of Mr. London's ride against boredom. Alec was likely excluded at Mr. London's request and he did not mind, he was already saddled by enough nonsense.

Cecil reemerged when Alec was sneaking in a little lunch break and it was clear the poor man was caught in a fit of unrest, worsening still as Simcox insisted he help inspect a sidecar, Heaven knows why. And Alec thanked the one lucky star he had that he was not similarly expected to be “driven” so far out of his element. Yet. It had been an odd day notwithstanding; some things certainly happening that would not have should their squire had been present. And yet the world still turned just as it always had...but Simcox would not abide, denying any possibility that such a man of good breeding as Durham could fail to influence, even from afar. 

Alec stood rebuked by the universe, it had held up and put everything in its "proper" place without much help from him, as he could not fully concentrate leading up to then. Every task stalled because another was expected, each one taking that much longer in the end. And this was normal, to a degree. What was not normal was being bound by laws apart from that of nature, and Alec had succumbed, hopelessly, to Mr. Hall’s gravity, and currently found himself doing as many things as possible that kept him close to the house. None of which were urgent. 

When Alec could not distinguish rain from the grass being thrown over his shoulder, he finally realized he was in part to blame; too tight in the grip of daydreams... 

Annoyed with himself, Alec let go of the wheelbarrow and turned around, coming face to face with a snickering redhead responsible for the confusing “rain” over his shoulder: maid at Pendersleigh, but neighborhood friend first and foremost. At least he could count on some things never changing. 

Alec cocked his head and brushed the grass from his shoulders, standing straighter as he joked, "So bored without Mr. D around to boss you yer taking to lawn abuse now, eh?"

Laney's hands found her hips, as was normal in Alec's presence, and hellfire twirled around her amber eyes. "Pft! That's from yer Ma!" She spit, simultaneously knocking her elbow purposefully into Alec's muscled side. 

Alec winced around a laugh, “Land sakes! What’s biting yah?! Changin’ faster than the seasons!’' Not long ago she was tearing into Fred in defense of him. 

Laney’s suspicious expression remained unchanged. Alec gauged her, steady on the truth like a hawk, but he should not have been surprised that she was more predatory; she would swoop and deflect as long as she could to protect ''the mother she never had'' from becoming emotional prey. 

After a minute, Alec crossed his arms but relaxed his posture, comprehending, "Ahh…Ma sent yah to scout.” He tapped his fingers on his elbow as he parried, ‘’All the years we knowing each other and yah take her side so easy, hmm?" 

The lassitude in her eyes confirmed it. Mrs. Scudder’s eyes had much the same hue lately, odd since both women were intrepid, but not above being affected. Or scheming, clearly, and to have asked Laney to bring it on at work—Laney who pestered for keeps enough at home and sometimes went so far as to steal Alec’s prepared lunch—this would be a new and elite low for one Mrs. Scudder.

Laney was intent on both tangling and detangling: "Side nuthin', you know better!” She huffed, and if her anger could fall on Alec at work, there was no telling who would not be safe from it. 

“And I don’t blame her…she's right sensitive now. Got me an awful earful this morn—came to the house expectin' you—‘’

‘’HA! I knows JUST what ye were expectin’, cheeky! Ma’s Bubble n’ Squeak!’’ Alec quipped, giving an elbow chuck right back to her.

She frowned. ‘’Nah! I thought you n’ me would make way here together, honest, but yer Ma sayin' you'd dashed out like wheels on yah feet, nary a goodbye or thanks for breakie?!" Shaking her head, she ‘’tisk-tisked’’ with her finger, "Thought the last couple days was good on you…but now she’s convinced you avoidin' her…what gives?!’’

Alec stroked his poking arm as if the vulnerability that rippled under his skin was a small animal cradling into him. It was only after Laney saw this that she realized he too was possibly a victim of having his normally glowing self-assurance pecked at and siphoned. There was something domestically fatalistic about Alec and his mother mutually clashing at their emotional confines.

‘’Is yah havin’ second thoughts...?" Laney did not mean to sound so gloomy, but she was a little jealous and just a little resentful that Alec should take both his Mother and his chance at a good life in the Argentine for granted.

A cloud rolled by, shadowed forms stretched over the landscape and Alec's eyes were nearly lost to the abyss of himself. 

Laney moved closer, beseeching, "Come on, tell ole Laney." 

There was nothing old about her; she was fresh as a spring breeze and faster than one too. Ever since Alec could remember her intuition propelled her ahead, the torque little more than hope and pluck. But had he realized it was just her desperate attempt at self-preservation, and a buck at the mundanity of life, she would not have appeared so impossibly larger than life. And yet, nothing could make him admire her any less. 

"Third and fourth thoughts, actually…" He said darkly, angry with himself and the petulant games his constitution was playing on him, too weak to fight one of those thoughts especially. It went against nature and reason, anthropomorphizing and running through him, wreaking havoc on his insides. 

"Collywobbles got hold then?" Laney muted her tone, in hopes that her emotions would not overtake completely, yet still flicker with the warmth of a candle. Alec found himself drawn to it, opening up, ashamed to be left to—or rather to leave a friend in the dark. 

‘’Ah, nothing time shan’t make right, I s’pose.’’ He put his hands in his pockets and scrounged as if hoping to find ratification.

Laney could hardly fault him; she had been struggling to surpass the domestic jitters, or Pendersleigh social current, ever since her first day, though because she persistently kicked to make her own waves it disguised how much she really felt like a fish out of water. 

The surf followed her into the conversation, ‘’When summat big a’comin’… life changes and all tha, I get cold feet some too.’’ She admitted, a little amazed by her own confession. ‘’Worry none, tis fair natural." 

As if to bring both feeling and control of solid ground back to her feet, Laney clicked her black flats together at the heels, grimacing some because she would trade them for men’s boots any day. Knowing nothing of Alec’s blisters, her eyes dropped to what she assumed were his enviably comfortable feet before they jumped up to his face.

Alec smiled with a nod. His positive thoughts were coming off the ground, but so were his feet, half of him lay heavy in the arms of doubt, the lead of uncertainty trying to wrap around his ankles, hands still in pockets he rocked back and forth on his heels so his guts would not twist and atrophy. Damn growing pains. 

‘’I can'na help worrying about Ma... how she’ll get by..." A little scared by his serious tone, he cleared his throat and laid it on thick, "...what without her darling amazin' one o' a kind strong ox of a son—hit me again bird n' I’ll pluck every last one of yer feathers!’’

Laney pulled her hand back and they both laughed. 

After a pause Alec said, ‘’I really do though,’’ smiling sadly, hugging himself, eyes in the sky. ‘’Oh...'specially with Fred at home again, she really bin over extendin' sheself. And Pa being such a brute too, I know his work is hard but he hasn't the sense to spare her from it...does he always half'ta take it out on her?" His voice was thinning and aging with unwanted memories stewing. He looked Laney in the eyes, continuing, "I’m not meanin' to avoid none, but part o’ me wants to make meself scarce, odd as it be, just to be outta her hair—one less thing for her to get tangled about, you know…’’ 

Laney was glad to hear his empathy remained unchanged. She rallied for him to become more responsible—never mind her own responsibilities, and that just a few days ago Milly was getting on her last nerve so she “accidentally” dropped a dead rat in the poor girl’s new shoes…

‘’Love will endure... and so shall she, and if'n thar be trouble, well, guessin' I is having ta be the buffer from nows on.'’ She stated, as a matter of fact.

And she would do that for him, and he knew it, so he threw his arm around her neck from the side, pulled her in and kissed her cheek. The harder she fought him off the more he laughed, and when they untangled she shook her head, scrubbed at her cheek and scrunched her face.

She talked like the words in her mouth were bitter: ‘’Christ! I be needin' a soak for sure, now! Ick!’’ 

Alec grinned, "Certain that Mother Nature could arrange tha for ye easy, ha! That's if ole Coxy-’’ Simcox that is, "Doesn't douse you with a bucket o' water first. Hell would freeze over afore he let you back in the house with all that mud on ye feet, oh and there's a nasty spot on that there frilly collar too...my, _my_..."

Alec attempted to dust off and adjust her collar and she bat him away violently. 

‘’Oi, come off it girl! I don’t has no fleas…well, ones that bite yah in the same place twice! Ha!" He clapped his hands together, snickering. 

Laney turned away, arms crossed.

Alec leaned in, and with a slow and tempting lilt he admitted that Earthy women were the most attractive, she did not budge, it was only after he offered to share some blood pudding with her later that she smiled to herself, thinking herself the victor. She then turned around and nodded, accepting the bribe with a hand shake.

“Gods I’m sure gonna miss tha…’’ Alec’s voice trailed off and visions of his Mother’s home cooked meals danced in his head. Ever since he was a child she always made sure to sneak him extra rations on the sly too. If you don't feed the ox, it wont grow.

Laney was about to say something but Alec was clearly distracted by movement over by the greenhouse. She followed his sight line, just making out Milly's form in the distance.

It was all the incentive she needed to re-marry herself to sassiness: "Ahhh...one last real fling for the road with old rat-toes, hmm?"

Their eye brows competed in arching. Alec shook his head in disbelief. "So little faith in me…" It belittled Laney’s true admissions, but such was the nature of their relationship: a good spirited tug o' war. 

''You isn't no friend to any bird... I seed you earlier cartin' some carcasses around.'' She must have seen him earlier when he was disposing of the chickens in the back pasture, beautiful laying hens that their no good foxy friend took out to lunch. Literally.

''Oh, ha! Them poor chicks...damn fox is a smart git, saw her earlier... nestin' right under me nose the whole time! Remember last week when summat ran off with me catch? Bettin' she's the one all along. Ahh, well, Durham is goin' to tear me a new one, sure 'nough, but didn't I tells him we needed a stronger latch on tha coop door? Ack. Maybes I give him a feather sos he can stick it in his fat cap and bloody well call it macaroni, ha!'' He hummed. 

Laney clapped Alec's back, jesting, ''I shall say a pray fer ye that there be no foxes in the Argentine.''

It went quiet for a moment after Laney laughed, then Alec said, soft and thoughtfully, ‘’…I wonder what the world is like on the other side...what with different customs and the like.’’ Because even in a newfound courtyard of plenty, tradition would present itself and subjects would be expected to bow to it, and he was tired of bowing…

Laney did not know much of the Argentine, but she had heard rumours. It may have been a curve ball but it was all she had: ‘’You be in real trouble with'n yer two left feet,’’ she lobbed, nudging Alec’s burning calf with her foot. ‘’I hear they play football all day an’ dance all night.’’ 

It came out of left field and Alec squinted to get it, hands tapping his sides, nerves racing to swing back. He leaned proudly over the wheelbarrow and began alluding to his stamina, more specifically his fancy footwork that had successfully dislodged the wheelbarrow from mud several times over earlier; strangely he made no mention of the tapestry of profanity he weaved as he, therapeutically, left a nice indent in the wheel. 

Further dodging, ‘’My _two left feet_ do me fine most oft.’’ 

Tree branches tapped against trunks.

‘’Ha! With eryone else around legless, sure sure, they can’na know no better.’’ Laney snickered and hopped backwards expecting a blow, ignoring Alec’s thoughts which she felt irrelevant, in favour of alluding to his behavior during pub crawls; something she believed was more characteristic and telling. 

It was Alec’s turn to throw grass. 

‘’Well give me summat to do a real upright jig over and I'll do it…hell, first I sees that Bible thumper Borenius I'll sure jump up, click my heels crazy and dance around him mad and possessed like - anything to scare him off, shite! Ever since the bloody wedding he has been on me." 

"Better he than God heself, hmm." Laney was no more religious than Alec, so it came out rather sardonically. 

"According to him God IS on me case, personal like, tis why B's petitioning fer me poor soul. _Heads_ , the man ca'na even look at a woman without acting like the Devil heself were in her eyes and he worrying fer MY soul? Mills told me how he went into a fit when them giddy cousins of lady Anne got that gramaphone going the morning of the weddin' - soul, ha! He may as well be dead already...!"

Alec could feel the target on his back grow larger just by talking about the Reverend. It was time to change the subject.

"Anyroad...right curious about what the music will be like in the Argentine…’’ Alec wondered aloud. 

Laney shrugged, picking the strands of grass from her hair, feigning disgust but happy to temper the kerfuffle. 

Sarcastically: ‘’Oh, sure yah be makin’ a few ‘birds’ sing summat wild...’’

Just then Simcox's voice sounded from the servant’s entrance of the house—intent like a missile to destroy procrastination—before Alec could offer his sure to be mordant reply. Laney turned away to face Simcox, though indifferent of his impact. 

Alec secretly lamented, their exchange bred familiarity, he was not exaggerating when he told her that ever since he had announced his future plans it seemed people were tiptoeing around him, careful to occupy surrounding space as if to avoid the inflating balloon in the room. Simcox’s sharp tone nearly popped it.

"Ugh,” Laney scoffed, “No good wolf on the prowl..." she said, turning back to poke a ribby side. Alec’s flesh aged in the motion, feeling the world protract along with him.

He stood advised to keep out of trouble, though Laney would never expect him to hold to it; all given with that same naughty look she had been perfecting since childhood. Alec did not want to be needy, but he really wanted to talk more of his doubts and Laney knew once something was on him his lips would burn all day, so she promised to sneak away whenever she could. A nostalgic pang overtook Alec's stomach as he watched her whisk away toward the house, her skirt flowing with elegance she would deny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death to craptacular wheelbarrows, am I right? Ahem.
> 
> * Bubble and Squeak: a traditional British breakfast made from boiled potatoes and cabbage


	5. The Greenhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sowing the seeds of love? Not just yet, but there’s plenty weeds-coughSimcoxcough-of confusion tangling around our boys…
> 
> Grapes, fruity boys, girls and flowery words… yes yes, my interpretation of what happened during Ivory's famous deleted Greenhouse scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serving up a big ole word salad, as per usual! HA I like to draw things out such that even I get frustrated by the pace of my writing, ha. And I romanticize a lot, but this is why we call it fiction kiddies. Thank you for reading and not sending the poetry police after me!

Ayres had come from the orchard, caught with an apple, earlier he had witnessed Milly seeking to be more than the apple of Alec's eye, and though their transgressions may not have been equal, for the first time in history, the two men conceded to give each other a pass. And space. They may not have liked each other, but they disliked Simcox more, and so long as everything was kept from him, they were safe. 

Left alone, amused, Alec shook his head, cracked his knuckles, stretched his back and rolled his wheelbarrow on, picking up Cecil's debris along the way and hoping the man’s personal life and home did not mirror such a shambles, his tools lay about as if he had just up and disappeared...

Alec really did not mind the extra tasks, he did not want to stop working, as soon as he did atypical thoughts of Mr. Hall would worm their way in, and he had wasted enough energy thinking up excuses to lessen the space between them. 

Going at it like a slave to the motions, his calloused hands rolled up Cecil's unminded shrub wrap, hulled dirt and rocks to fill the drowned drive, disrupted pigeon nests, tended to left-over chickens and then on his way back through the orchard, darkness stole his sight away, an accomplice to a pair of hands that covered his eyes.

He felt himself wobble, being dragged in the opposite direction he intended to go, by a small but forceful hand around his wrist and, not having time to protest, he was swept up by a tornado of feminine scents and laughter. 

Whirled up stairs, his feet tripped and then a scold to another female accomplice penetrated his dizzy spell, warped by, as it sounded, crooked teeth: "Quit giggling, ole Coxy'll be on us." 

Before he knew it Alec found himself in the greenhouse, two skirts disappearing into the shelter of the surrounding greenery, leaving him in the palm of wonder, temperature rising, creeping between cotton and his skin. 

The heat was on. He knew this game all too well. 

He removed his jacket and draped it over a wooden stool. So much of that day had already gone to waste; but with Durham gone he surrendered to the inevitability and followed his nose, deferential as he vined through potted plants and green grapery, the intermingling scents intoxicating him. No wonder Cecil walked around in a haze half the time. 

There was a table between him and the far wall, rows of colourful flowers on each side of it, some of which shook curiously. Alec reached between the shakers and yanked what felt like an arm through the brush, exclaiming; "Now that’s a pretty flower!" 

An arm it was and attached to one Milly, who yelped, "You whelp, you nearly tore my dress!’’ She pulled said arm back and made a show of tending it as Alec peaked through petals with a hoot. 

Though both pleased by what could be seen as a routine interchange—a daily attempt to ward off monotony—Alec would often depart with no more or less learned of Milly, sex, life or even himself. But he must take his place if he hoped to be indispensable. He shook his head at the madness of it all, practically expectorating his words, ‘’Ha! Yah sooner be rid of tha dress with the likes of me.’’

Milly gasped, running her hands over the blue and pink blooms, walking and talking out of her—‘’Ask yeself how bored you’d be without me. You'd hardly know what to do if you couldn’t use me to draw some fine picture of mischief." Facetious, entirely, Alec always succeeded in winning over independently but that very fact bothered Milly enough to pretend she was excluded from his charm. It bothered Alec just as much to be wrongly pegged. 

Alec made like he was going to jump over the table, Milly panicked and ran, yelling, ‘’You are such a hound!’’

Alec on her tail, she waved a finger in his smug face when he approached excitedly and she smacked his hands away from trying to pinch her. 

Alec beamed rebelliously, "An’don't yah forget it!‘’ Yet some part of him was clearly unhappy to deflect, ‘’Well, can'na let this one goes without being proper initiated, can we?" 

He winked and gestured to "this one", meaning Milly's cousin Beatrice, who peaked out from behind an umbrella tree, her flustered look in conflict with her eager spirit. She was the latest addition at Pendersleigh per Anne’s insistence and yet she had learned already that in this game of cat and mouse, there were no winners. 

Milly urged, "We can if you wanna avoid a tongue lashing from ole Simcox!" She insisted and rolled her tongue around her teeth, about to unleash some seduction which would imply her willingness for tongue lashing of another kind, when her cousin’s jauntiness pealed the conversation back—

"Oh, go cower in the corner, will yah!" 

Both Milly and Alec turned with a surprise to the previously demure figure breaking her silence. Beatrice sauntered closer, hands behind back, sway in her walk, brown bangs falling out of her ponytail into her complacent face. 

Her eyes all a’flutter, she smiled vicious and tempting, "If he thinkin he's man enough to do it, I'd sure like to see 'im try." 

Oh Alec would do it, doubly so, if not just to exorcise Mr. Hall from him. He snaked his arms around each girl's neck pulling them close with a satisfied hiss. Beatrice was more eager in nudging into it but Milly wiggled her way out after some struggle. 

Once free she plucked a few grapes defiantly, eating and glaring at her cousin who was too conceitedly giddy for her liking, as Alec nipped at her neck. 

Milly launched a grape, hitting Beatrice square in the head with a victorious cackle, who would have pounced if Alec had not anchored her by the back of her dress. 

‘’Wild cats! Retract 'em claws!’’ Alec cried. ‘’Plenty o’ me to go around,’’ he winked at Milly, just for good measure.

Milly folded her arms, sulking, ‘’How can there be when I seen so little o’yah around these days?’’

‘’Ha!’’ He knew it true but he was no woman or man’s keeper, besides, ‘’…on occasion it occurs to me tha there be other people in this big o’ world, plus I has a job to do here in it.’’ Alec looked at Milly who was unconvinced, simultaneously he tickled Beatrice and tongue-in-cheek he asserted he had the upper hand: ‘’Or maybes I’m preparing somethin’ special for ye...’’ 

That did the trick. Milly bit her lip and slunk over to him, possessively snaking her arm around the free side of his waist, he smelled like a cool evening but felt like a hot day. He gave her a peck on the cheek and she swooned. 

Locked in Alec's opposite arm, and tired of her cousin’s desperate plea for attention, Beatrice squeezed Alec tighter to her and craned her head toward the vines. She nearly banged Alec's head in her attempt to appear more excited, cultured and interested than she really was, asking, "How do they get ‘em all growing like tha?" 

"Oh.’’ Alec’s eyes shot to the vines, eager to break more ice, ‘’Most of ‘em be self-fertile, but you has to train them vines some, I mean, the roots are fair extensive so I expect they was planted outside and they strung ‘em vines through a hole, and you got to keep on the drainage, but better theys roots have enough room to grow proper so—whot?!" 

Each girl stood glimming. Milly leaned out of the embrace to get a better look at Alec, finding her voice first, "Well, ain't yah just a fountain of knowledge." 

Alec did not like her condescending tone. He let go and turned to snatch a few grapes himself. When he turned back to face the girls it was clear his features had tightened as he talked around the grape in his mouth, "I pay attention, is all." 

He was thinking it strange that girls of similar class should think he would be lacking in domestic experience, but then again he did not hold women and men in different categories. It should not have surprised him that Milly did not remember much of his history apart from their historical rolls in the hay, but it did. 

Milly continued, unimpressed, "Oh, yeah..." She put her hand over her eyes, challenging, "What colour me eyes then?"

Alec was thinking how little it mattered if there was nothing much behind the eyes… but feeling slightly guilty as Milly hung on his every move he offered the answer, ‘’Green," with no hesitation, playing along, not being one to wish oblivion on anyone.

The elbow to his hip seemed to pierce right through fabric and inoculate him with wrongness. He began to wonder if he had been walking around all day with a sign on him that read, ‘’Ladies, please, hit me!’’ But he couldn't really blame God if he'd chosen to channel women and finally punish him for his negligence or whatever vices he was guilty thereof. 

Milly’s brown eyes widened and she stuck her tongue out, "Wanker!" 

It made Alec laugh even deeper than he began. She was as comely as they came, but she didn't know it and Alec found it mildly worth interest. But thwarted, her _brown_ eyes dropped some to the floor. 

As if lowering his voice would lure, he pulled Milly into him and breathed against her cheek, "But I sure’nough know the colour of your lips." 

She smiled so he smiled.

Feeling jealous Beatrice leaned in closer, batting her eyes against his free cheek, competing. But Alec did not want to see either of them; he wanted to shut them away with kisses and he did just that.

"Self-fertile, eh?" Milly snorted as she buried her face in his shoulder, scents pouring, from the sandalwood of Indian summer, to the dewy pine of late autumn…all deliciously soaked into Alec's clothes and skin.

Alec felt like a brace between two fragile orchids, he was happy to keep them upright and close, going that extra mile to make them bud and tickle them pink, literally, by playfully baiting and flirting. But Milly would not relinquish her hold on her own grapes, dangling them before Alec’s eyes, he leaned his head in, trying to bite, hinted tastes of wine-to-be perverting as he forcefully nipped.

Beatrice shoved her fingers in Alec’s mouth, powerless to surrender her fruits, his shirt disheveled seductively in the process.

*** 

Maurice seemed to have been walking away from the reality of Clive's absence with that much more urgency ever since that morning's unsuccessful hunt had given him the idea that even nature was in on his punishment.

And with his eyes on the ground, he felt akin to everything he stepped on and crushed. His legs were weaker than his resolve and the weight of memory stuck to his shoes and slowed his pace. He dragged his feet up concrete steps, the tail of his tuxedo swaying, scarcely realizing he had made it to the greenhouse. When just in front he stopped, eyes lifting while he took a satisfying drag, and the vision before him swirled in slow motion pace with the smoke. Not dainty flowers before his eyes, but 3 raw bodies entwining like tree trunks, bound together by the roots, perverting the beginning and ends of each. Maurice's arm slowly fell as the gravity of reality mounted. He could hear his own heart but he could not feel his toes.

*** 

Coming up for a breath of air, Alec turned forward and froze mid chew. Striking blue eyes shot through the window, and darted straight into him, more intense than the proximity of the bodies beside him, which now twitched uncomfortably like lab rats being monitored. 

Alec wanted to place a hand over his chest, in protection of his heart, but he was transfixed as his senses shattered before him like shards of glass, and he dared not move lest this be the blow that finally cracked his heart. He'd be in for it now if Hall were to pass it onto Durham, goodbye to positive work references...

As much as his job was on the line, so too was his libido, an arrow had hardly gone astray from Cupid's bow, piercing through his resilience was but a poisoned dart, injecting him with an unnatural scourge of emotion, driving his reason to cluster in knots. Alec chewed the grape like it all chewed on him. What the devil? He was smarter, stronger than this...

Why should he care that Mr. Hall stood like a deer in headlights, forsook and unreachable, unnaturally silent and unreasonably shocked, his conscience scattering like ribbons taken by a rogue wind? Why shouldn’t Alec laugh at Hall’s prudence, his painfully haughty perception, but instead feel preposterously compelled to run off in collection of his tattering resolve, in search too of tethers that would bind them together, and when drawn, lessen the divide so Hall would not have to feel as alien as he looked. So exposed and alone as he may very well be. 

*** 

Maurice's cigarette nearly fell from his fingers as he lost his firm grip on reality. He stood suspended, equally vexed as an unwanted cord, dangerous and sorrowful, keened inside him. He could not decide if this moment materialized for the sole purpose of ministering to the distress that Clive had inspired, or to aggravate it… God he felt so underappreciated. Undersexed. And there, a virile servant stood with not one, but two people hanging off him? Why should Maurice care about someone, a mere gamekeeper, who was insipid enough for such a brazen display? And yet, looking away felt like denying, at that second, that hearts should beat, lips should kiss, sex should unite...

This would simply not do. No, not at all. Why should he care? It must be that he was so tired...

*** 

Alec swallowed mindlessly, a guttural pang going down along with the grape, it tasted like sex and eviscerated his nerves, he could no longer feel the girls. 

His arms fell. His legs involuntarily stepped back and away from Milly and Beatrice, as if pushed as Mr. Hall turned and walked away, truly mortified and equally mesmerized, leaving him to the nakedness of melancholy. 

"Oh, lookit this one 'ere." Beatrice motioned toward Alec, Milly taking heed, equally amused seeing him gone with the wind, so stock still it was easy to mistake an awe-struck man for a man paralyzed by fear. 

"Don’t worry yourself none about him.’’ Milly assured, not knowing any better, stepping forward and fiddling with nearby flower heads. ‘’He's a trifle lovesick, can't see two feet in front of 'imself...so wrapped up in Mr. Durham." She plucked some petals and turned to throw them at Alec’s feet. Her words were a funnel above him; he stood calm in the centre as billows of gossip swirled round. 

"You don't mean...?" Beatrice began to ask... 

Milly finished her sentences. 

"Fraid so. Loly pop club since college—the two of them."

"But he's..." 

"I know." 

"And Miss Anne?"

"Arse over tit. Oblivious as a school girl." 

"Whot a waste!"

Behind them the greenhouse door creaked, along with a disquieting male voice: "A waste of potential good character on your behalf, to stoop low and tell unbecoming rumors, rather. Milly, you should know better than soil your cousin’s first week here.’’

The haze dissipated around Alec, replaced by scorching contemptuousness blazing from a man who fancied himself as big as the sun. Alec couldn’t help turning to look. Simcox smiled wickedly.

"Oh, please! If’n yah gonna blow smoke at least bum us a fag. It were probably you who spread the rumour first, bored with the usual racket." Alec volleyed the jibe because the girls were clearly unprepared and he liked a fair fight.

Simcox made a show of picking up Alec’s jacket and folding it as neatly as flags were prepared for fallen soldiers. Tight lipped he spoke as he offered it to him, "I take no pleasure in exposing faults. You should share my worry for Milly’s reputation, though she might be right about our squire, if he cannot remain steadfast how could any such as we?‘’ 

Alec took his jacket and looked at him suspiciously. "Yes. How could we!? Even I—forced to get on all this time though someone clearly misplaced me trust fund and papal indulgences, ha!’’

Though he was being ironic, it was really a comment on the extent to which he was mistrusted that an astute and experienced butler should have been unable to rally an eager combination of supporters.

Simcox reared, ruled perhaps by old remnants of unresolved resentment, ‘’You misunderstand. We are all oars in this boat. If Mr. Durham has gone astray we are in part to blame. With him away and you all lost to such distraction today, it proves my point. Will you not do your proper part?’’

The girls looked at each other and heaved. Simcox remained staunch.

Alec shook his head, saying vehemently, "You act like this is one of England’s great expeditions...’’

Snorting, he wrestled another grape from a vine and popped it in his mouth. ‘’Oh no, every man be captain of he own ship and mine sets sail for something different entire. I’ll have no part in being a brown-tongue.’’ 

Milly and Beatrice were paralyzed by puzzling neutrality at the display of undue hostility unfolding. It was like watching two dogs fighting over an invisible bone. 

Simcox adjusted his sleeves in the heat, claiming, "Quite the peculiar case in you, indeed. Mr. Borenius has his work cut out for him.’’

Without missing a beat: ‘’Right so, I’m a regular charity case.’’ Alec laughed, trying to even his inflection. ‘’I reckon those that be up on theys high horse have a longer way to fall though, moreso if'n they think theyselves angels incarnate. I’ll stay put right here, thank ye, on the good hard ground where I know I’m no worse or better than theys around me." 

Without an olive brach a grape vine would have to do, Alec literally tried extending it but Simcox shunned, and looked him squarely in the eye, echoing something much the same as his brother, ‘’Have you never aspired to be more than you are?" 

Alec suffered enough inscrutability, muttering under his breath while Milly intervened, much in the way she had done with her own younger brothers on occasion. She tugged Alec, but fell short to contain him without rope and he broke loose and growled faintly, "Whot? To be like our ‘superior’ squire? Not room enough in the land for more than one stiff with a broomstick up their—" 

Milly stepped on Alec’s foot and he choked on the rest of his sentence, acting hurt after but secretly glad of her attempt to curve his anger. He was unable to reel it in, scarcely knowing why. 

"The carpets will not beat themselves, girls." Simcox barked impatiently, the girls gave Alec a sympathetic look and slunk away towards the house with their tails between their legs, whispering. 

Looking at Alec, Simcox could tell he was growing restless, especially without the moral support of his friends. 

Simcox did like the gumption that came with considering a career overseas, but could simply not understand Alec’s desire to abandon the Durhams. And it was not that Simcox had vendettas with the other staff, he just never considered them peers, and his sense of duty regularly warred with his desire for controversy. 

The latter winning over when Alec became dangerously quiet. 

The butler snarled, and began to speak, trying hard not to do so with cutting acidity: "What the good Reverend said just might be true. One might never know what someone is just by looking at them.’’

Alec was not sure who exactly such disdain was meant for, not that it mattered, he would like to reduce any unhealthy attachment to arrogance. 

He considered what to say next with the hope that his humour would rise in Simcox and transmute into a lighter mood, ‘’Oh, I don’know. I always thought it was all in the eye of the beholder. And heck, in the eyes of the _beer_ holder, we all look better than best, aye, ha!’’ Wink wink, nudge nudge. He was surprised his voice was so even, because catching Simcox in contradiction, Alec could not resist flashes in the proverbial pan, ‘’Anyroad, heres I thinking you could smell the blue blooded from a mile...’’

Aggravated by being bested, but not wanting to let on, Simcox turned his attention toward the vines. ‘’Your dry wit seems to be desiccating the crop. You should have to be more careful.’’ He warned; a good try at dark humour.

Alec fingered the vines, saying, ‘’Much as I'm liking to take claim o' tha kind a'power, I suspect the problem not be dryness but over saturation.’’ It served as both truth and slight but Simcox only recognized the former, though he could not dispute the weather had been brutal, anyone with half a mind would be surprised the roots were not drowned and rotting. But half his mind was not his own at the moment. 

Not wanting to be drowned by his own doing, Alec reapplied himself, promising Simcox he would keep an eye on the grapes and more importantly, let Cecil know. His willingness had the adverse effect and Alec found himself even more beleaguered by Simcox’s metaphors. 

‘’Funny how even the most naturally hardy structures can collapse under their own weight…'’ Simcox had the casual elegance of a demi-god then, neither good nor evil, simply impartial and observant. He had an airy wisdom that, if repeated flavoured Alec’s tongue, but did nothing to stir much in him. 

Alec shook out his jacket, purposely undoing the neat creases and putting it on sloppily as he remarked, "Mr. Durham and Borenius be rather lucky to have ye then, such a wise old sage and stead—‘’ Emphasis on the old. ‘’I’m sure you’ll help ‘em navigate through the wreckage." Alec nudged Simcox playfully as he tried to walk by, which might as well have been a stab and Simcox turned with frightful desire to beat him to the door as if his life depended on it.

Alec stared on, expecting nothing, which did everything to grate on Simcox whose ugly laugh petered out as he stepped one foot out. Just before he would return completely to the cool air of midday he—not even bothering to look back at Alec—theorized, "I think you are the lucky one. While you were valiantly tending to Milly’s …soul… your kindred hounds left you quite a few gifts, digging up the flower beds and the yard. Good that you just ate, as you and Cecil are sure to have a laborious night ahead of you, thus I'd advise you to start now before it gets dark.’’ 

The sun finally showed but had the audacity to beat through the greenhouse glass with a glare that was almost too much to handle. 

Simcox was all too happy to have the last word stretch from his wrinkled lips, and Alec getting beat by the heat was not up to disagreeing. And as he heard Simcox’s toffeed tones as the man turned to look at him to say, ‘’Further grounding for you, I imagine,’’ all he could do was blink and think shamelessly of being prostrate on the ground Mr. Hall walked.

The door slammed, echoing after it shut. And the glass—fragile but fixed much like Alec—shuttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Milly, you little flirt... :) Don't let Beatrice or Laney hit you on the way out... ha!
> 
> Simcox is fun to write, I want to hate him but he is just too scathingly brilliant to. 
> 
> I imagine that Alec would have a lot of knowledge where gardening is concerned, naturalist that he is, but I am a horticulturalist by trade myself so a little of me is bleeding into this, ha! I expect everyone to go and grow some grapes successfully now! ;)
> 
>  _Beer_ holder... *snorts*


	6. The First Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Once the rain came through the ceiling of the club. I rang the bell and the servant brought a saucer."_
> 
> _"I ring the bell and the servant brings me nothing..."_
> 
> Just what were the servants up to when Clive rang that bell?
> 
> Build up to the moving of the piano (which I always thought to be the point when Alec and Maurice really began to be _moved_ by the notion of each other in the film, if only subconsciously).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Splitting this chapter in 2, I figure it's easier to digest this way. In favour of expanding things I am choosing to ignore the film's timing, the whole piano bit flashes by rather quickly and I'd much rather make room for more story (actually I think I have ignored the pacing of the movie itself as a whole thus far, lol). Also, this chapter may not be too eventful but I am fleshing out minor charactres while I have the chance, knowing once I plunge into the true love-pool I will not have the heart to swim much deeper for anything or anyone else. Who could? ;-) 
> 
> *edited:  
> -Laney x piano book, now a more realistic explanation I think  
> -changed the bit about Cecil
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

"Dug yourself into a hole, have you?"

The voice came with a splintering of light, bursting forth from the back entrance to the kitchen as Milly popped her head out. It mingled with the dawn, revealing to Milly just how muddy Alec's boots really were. Milly's shoes—just hanging over the door frame—were pristine in comparison. 

Alec fleered, if not just for that reason: "Oh, bog off! Dig one for _you,_ if yah not careful..." He emphasized this by pushing a shovel into the ground and leaning on it. Removing his hat rather petulantly. 

Milly was not worried, it was an all too familiar punt into light-hearted banter, she could see Alec’s lips begin to curl upwards as he wiped sweat from his brow with his free hand. Everything had been blustery that day, why should they be any different? 

Alec just may have whiled away his time and reset the whole lawn if Milly had not appeared. He had succeeded in breaking up the dogs' “expeditionary dig," wrangling and returning them to the kennel as Cecil set on restoring whatever greenery was victimized. If they hadn't intervened the dogs may have very well made it to China. Though in an ideal world the fix would have been Mrs. Durham’s responsibility, since she was the one who insisted the dogs needed exercise and then left them unattended as she retired for a “much needed bath.” 

No ideal world, no true ablution. 

When Alec's clothes were, once again, a fine furry testament to how relaxed and settled the dogs had become, he began his way back from the kennels. He collected a few rabbits along the way, depositing them in the hunting shed before he returned to find 1/4 of the damage restored. No sooner did he take up the shovel was Cecil deported to no man’s land a la Simcox, and most likely deliberately. 

As the shovel was to the soil, Mrs, Durham believed herself and her son to be excavators of plenty, she had Simcox and the rest of the community convinced they were true benefactors and “betters.” 

Alec had other ideas about what tools would till _true_ moral ground, he could very well act as guiding hand to the shovel of the working class, and upon a Durham head it might one day come down hard... Cecil however, would keep his shovel upright. 

Milly ignorantly alleged that work made men harsh as she hung out the door. She withdrew when a rogue rain drop hit her head. Alec shook his right foot, a futile attempt to get rid of some mud and he challenged that perhaps it was women-folk who made men thus, it came with a wink, on cue with thunder ricocheting: Mother Nature’s own wink to coming rain.

‘’Bah, this weather got all o' England strung, it could turn a rock to sponge, even.” Alec brooded, trying but failing to rub dirt off his hands as he did so. “Oi girl, make yerself useful and toss me tha will yah, please?" He squinted and pointed to something just behind Milly in the kitchen. 

"No girl, not tha—yeah, you got it now. Thanks, luv," he said, rag thrown into his hand. He tried to make his face and hands presentable, but given Milly’s attention he couldn’t look all that bad to begin with, though he may have felt otherwise. His hair could sometimes rival the weather in stubourness. 

He made that would not be the current case, putting his hat back on, asking casually, "So... how goes the circus in thar?" 

"A bore!’’ Milly twirled her hair. ‘’Cards, but no tricks…oh, but then could you just _imagine_?” 

Alec could, maybe not literally with cards, but wasn't gentry a social trick in and of itself? Were they not all walking a tightrope already, silently waiting for each other to fall? Hitherto the safety-net was holding, though Alec clawed at it, worn-out and desperate from jumping through their hoops, his world turning on it’s side in the name of obedience, enforced by the lash of "propriety's" whip. 

Still, caught deep in the net the right person just might go "belly-up" and vulnerable... Alec's lip began to twitch.

Milly went back to describing what she saw in the drawing room, more along the lines of each being in some trance, she said, “It’s like a blumming wake..." She could swear they entertained the same subject nightly, it surely seemed like every conversation was an extension of the other, more lines drawn separating England and their like from the rest of the world. Though caught in the middle of it all, Milly could draw her lines too.

Alec, ever cavalier and devil in his grin, tossed the dirty rag back at an unprepared Milly, concluding, "S’pose what would pass as conversation to ‘em would bore a corpse to death all over, eh?" And he knew what graves they could all be buried in, compliments of the dogs. 

‘’Shh, _shhh,_ lower your voice...” Milly implored, turning back to toss the rag on the counter, then she waved Alec’s thoughts off with a giggle. 

She took her own advice and spoke low when Alec persisted, “Oh...it's the usual complaints, aye: England this. Politics that. Clean up the streets they intend, but they can't even clean their own house..." 

Contradictions beat at the roof on a daily basis, most often making way for Mrs. D's foreign jumbo to fall through the cracks, today it was a constant trickle Milly could not avoid. Not in the morning when, after several cleans, she "failed" to make each mirror "shine as it ought to." 2 coats of oil per tables and chairs did not suffice either, and by the time she changed the water in a most " _precious vase_ ," despite having been changed not an hour before, she was drenched with unfair disdain. 

"You know, it's that mad ugly one that looks like she got it from a peddler, come from the Orient?" Milly forgot herself, how would Alec know of vases, much less Asia? It mattered not to either of them anyway. The point: "Oh that one sure can yell... sharp with her: _‘avec hâte, avec hâte’_.. like the good Lord would spasm through me, make me her most obedient vase-loving slave...avec hâte, ha! Avec THIS!" She threw her hands up, and though she did not know a lick of French it sure knew her, it had sought her ears out well enough to echo through. She had scrubbed and polished enough vases and the like to blind even a Queen, so why did she feel like a court jester? 

It was easy for her to _get_ how a demanding woman like Mrs. Durham, who literally had everything handed to her on a silver platter and seemingly only ever lifted her pinky fingers, could act as if justice failed should the vase not one day grow legs and fulfill itself. For Milly the hard part was being merely contended with.... go ahead, thought Alec, hold tight to your illusions Mrs. D, and see if you can find one worthier than thee... 

A thing was only ever an illusion to Alec so that he may flip reality, thereby turning up a stronger more realistic part of himself. But that did not mean he wasn't tested by Mrs. Durham, he could never be too sure a bat would not fly out of “that trap of hers” whenever she opened it, and he mentioned it. Milly’s final contribution was, “It must be tiring to be so vain…’’ And she knew from experience. 

She was sure horns began to grow atop Alec’s head when he suggested they let Kingpin run about the house to kick them all back to life, _ever so humbly_. Kingpin being Durham's new prized thoroughbred. Booming laughter ruptured with the imaginings, not unlike the mass trotting of hooves sounding. Milly’s expression once again begged they go back to a whisper. 

Alec tried his best, though his heart was pressuring him to scream out: "And what about...uh... the _guest_?" He inquired, looking down toward his wheelbarrow, taking notice of a few worms coming up by the wheel, he redirected himself to toss them away, a little too close to Milly on purpose, who squirmed, her lips mouthing "ick" before she asked, 

"Mr. London, you mean...?”

“Honour sakes, no!" The last worm to fly from Alec's hand understood just what measure of force was behind his objection. "He spoiled the whole morn’ with complete tosh: _‘I say, buck up old man, you have not known true frustration until you have ridden the trolley...so little space gentleman are one atop the other. Hall, you would _not_ know it from a second class train. Not even a spot of refreshment... nor is it direct enough to take one to places a _true_ gent' surely must go. What rot_!” He tried to quote him best he could. 

“No... he didn’t?!”

It took Alec a moment to roll out of the mocking accent. “Aye, just another bloke actin' like he arse is too precious to ride wit the rest o’ mankind. Don't know why I should be surprised...just...you'd think he'd earned that bloody name o' his from the King heself...”

There was only one _true_ name for men like that, but Milly would not lower herself to speak it, instead continuing over to the only other subject Alec must have been referring to: “Mr. Hall barely uttered a word, he was worse for wears looking, I _guess_...but not letting on about _us_ …or the greenhouse...don't worry." 

Before Milly could say more the through-way door swung open behind her, and Laney appeared, coming up beside her and nearly pushing her outside, warning, "Heads up, kits! I hear—”

Milly interrupted with a finger to Laney’s lips, and in an instant nearly had it bitten off, Laney's laugh was less than comforting as Milly cradled her finger and dodged with disgust. Knowing exactly where this was headed, Alec minded his business, tidying the area as best he could so that it was easier to pack up when he finished, which he nearly had. 

Milly foresaw this very opportunity with Laney and she had been channeling her energy precisely up until then, so she wiggled her victimized finger in Laney’s face and recited the speech she had prepared, “Before you start spouting endlessly... just _you_ explain why me petticoat went missing when I come to dress this morn’? And later I find it in Anne’s room whilst I was turnin’ down the bed, and it looks like it took a trip in the back of a shite cart?” Laney could sense Milly's timing was in fact deliberate, she herself had waited it out for much less, until she was sure she could discuss matters as Alec was within earshot.

He stared at Laney as she rolled her eyes and pushed passed Milly out the door. Embraced by cool air, she twirled around something silly. Milly was getting dizzy yet Laney, once stopped, was the one appearing dumbfounded. 

“Don’t play innocent. I know quite well you stole it and put it there, thinkin’ I get pinned for honour knows _what_! Had no choice but to borrow an extra of Beatrice’s...and it’s _far too big_.” Stressing “big,” Milly lied about the sizing, trying to ignore the elastic digging into her waist.

Laney shrugged, then consciously crimped her own skirt, sweetening her voice as she implied, “But Handmedowns suit you so well, me dear...” Though she had never since this moment seen Mills in any such thing.

“Don’t try to be cute, if Mrs. D found out she would give me an earful!”

“Tis the idea, girl.” Laney stropped her wit on Milly's nerves with one last twirl, smiling impishly with her back turned away. 

She expected to get a grin from Alec in return but instead his concern fixated on the possibility that Laney, in her lab of animosity, may have created a monster; giving the Durham matriarch an excuse to loom over them all indefinitely. Laney deflected, stepping a bit closer to Alec and recapping; he hadn’t exactly refrained from pushing her buttons during his tenure. It may have been true, but he was no less inspired to concede. 

Milly called out derisively, “Where did you find this girl, Alec? At a farmer’s auction...?”

His answer was to throw the last of the grass seed supply into a spot of stripped soil, when it grew both Laney and Milly could nibble on it ‘til the cows came home for all he cared. 

Laney’s lips hung open but hardly in welcome of a rising appetite for greens, she was simply wowed, “I was’na aware you had it in you to be sos clever clappin’ back, girl.” She said to Milly, who literally bit her tongue when Laney donated further crassness into an already inflated fund, claiming that had Milly not been in this “stuffy sty” for so long she may have been able to take a joke.

Milly relaxed a tad when she realized how much Laney liked to see her squirm, and after all, no one could tell much about the petticoat under her skirt. But for a moment there she may as well have been the bolt of Zeus himself, how she saw fit to quietly goad over the storm she manifested from under the dark cloud of her own “auction” quip, which to her seemed the perfect intellectual one-up. She was mistaken if she thought it would gain Alec’s respect, his tolerance had already _umbrellaed._ With his imagination safe from dowsing, it would leap over their tiff to start making its way into the shelter of the house, osmosing into the atmosphere cultivating around Mr. Hall.

Lightning stretched its fingers across the landscape, electricity touching the back of their necks and everyone lapsed back into worry over whether the weather would ever loosen its grip; how far would it go?

After a moment they would be sure how far Laney already was, saying, “Tantrums aside...I come out real to say, when I were dusting earlier in the day, by the pianer, I seed a leak messin’ it good...”

“Again?” Asked Milly, flatly. “Did you tell Mr. Durham?”

“Course not... ah, 'sides, it stopped leaking shortly after when the rain let up,” Laney’s lips shifted into a roguish sweep, blame shifting along; she said Alec procrastinated previous orders to repair the leak, and now Laney would have to repair her sense of security after receiving the dagger of his fury which warned: “Don’t even start...”

Unashamed, nevertheless she stopped, and still reality rushed; “Anyroad, tha point gone runnin' away here—ah, yes, just afore I came in’ere I were passin’ the drawer room on me way back from the cellar—would you believe Beatrice claiming cramps to get out of fetching more wine?—now sounds like they are onto it, the leak I'm meaning, rain being so bad again now...talking of one'a us movin' the damn pianer though there's ‘nough abled in thar to build one of ‘em bleedin’ things outright!’’ Laney stomped. ‘’Leak _nuthin_ —they oughter worry theys lead fer brains lazing don’t drill no holes in the floor straight through to the cellar!’’ 

“Why? Wouldn’t it match the general mess about the place just fine?” The wisecrack came from Milly, she too was tired of the house and its personal vendetta towards peace; leaks, creaks, cracks... what was next?

“Is it really so bad?” Alec asked, honestly not able to visualize much of the interior, having spent so little time inside.

The girls looked at him as if he had been living on the Moon. He tried to redeem himself: ‘’Rather strange havin' need o' some piano to begin wit’ then, when you think about it... has you even heard ‘em play the thing?’’

‘’No.’’ Both girls piped up in unison, then looked at each other, trying to take an inch. The stronger of the voices prevailed, revealing that she could not fathom it either. Laney remembered hearing rumours that Durham was once a regular “ _Mozert_ ,” especially at Cambridge, and when she tried to articulate it Milly could not stomach her lazy pronunciation of the composer and corrected her. M o z A r t. 

Undaunted, she grouped Milly in when she accused the " _uptight_ " of not having much need for anything as whimsical as music or those composing, except to boast or name drop, concluding that the whole lot of them amount to “bugger all.’’ A dreary sense of hopelessness should have invaded Alec then, who valued his friend’s opinion greatly, but even as Hall materialized in his mind he failed to be convinced. It would just take one of his adlibbed musical parodies ("Clive, Shmive, lives in a dive"), and Hall's frosty exterior would crack, he was sure of it.

‘’Not much we amount to for working here then, dare say…’’ His words were meant to escort the girls off his trail, but Laney stayed close, gaining a mutual look when she proclaimed them gluttons for punishment. Caustically, Alec added that they used to have better judgement. It wasn’t true, but they indulged each other. 

It was a brutal fact that people of their station had limited exposure to classical music, the subject of pianos would not have made much sense to either of them had Laney not once spent what seemed like an entire summer forcing Alec to listen to her practice reading a book on musical theory. Her pleasure to experience new avenues of culture accounted for more than she'd like to admit. Her father often expressed how her mother always hoped she would grow up literate and "culturally" inclined, for those were social stepping stones that could elevate any woman. Not that Laney would settle being just _any woman_ , but she had settled to teach herself to read and hoped against hope to one day be learned enough to read music, and eventually play piano, if ever she could by miracle find one... 

It occurred to her that her dream might be closer than she could have imagined. Cheekily: “We should steal the bloody thing...” Oh, if only.

“Right," said Alec, catching on, "...better still, sells it and buy our dignity and 'good judgement' back then, aye?”

“...might say it be a _‘key-knapping’_ then, hmm?” 

Alec liked this game, after a moment of brain storming he snickered and _pun_ ted back, “Doubt theys even be at _tuned_ enou to notice...”

“An’ if the plan falls _flat_ and we get caught? _Bass_ ically we be under a _rest_ , ha ha!"

The salvo of informalities made Milly cringe, who could not claim history of such a natural and good humoured friendship, her jealousy exhibited in her desire to redirect the conversation. She interjected and lead Alec to question whether Cecil ever tapped into any “ _good judgement_ ’’, she thought it strange that he was excluded. She had seen him an hour earlier seeking Anne's council, which resulted in permission to leave early, shortly after. 

When Alec lit a smoke instead of replying, Milly's impatience and restlessness were conveyed in the lines twitching across her forehead.

Laney thought it relevant to pity, ‘’Our poor Cecil,’’ looking at Milly and Alec as if they’d missed something. 

“Don’t look at me... I’m just as much a sud in the waves as ye all,” Petitioned Alec, despising his own confusion. "Hard to know whot is whot today—Cecil was even tied up workin’ the _twat-mobile_ , could it be tha? When Durham come home he were none the wiser...acting like he'd been here in the know all day..." 

Alec could admit to being more proactive in the past, since the hunt he felt as though he was destined to fall short that day, which he feared interfered with Cecil somehow. Though picking up for everyone may be appropriate penance, and practice for the piano haul, he could not be blamed for waylaying all at Pendersleigh, alas convincing himself and Durham would be another story.

He had expected a lashing after Simcox gave the squire the daily report but it never came, Alec wondered if the rumours were true, perhaps Mr. Hall's presence had a certain effect. The idea that he could have anything in common with Durham should have been enough to deter Alec's interest in Hall...Cecil was lucky to be rid of Pendersleigh for the day, in more ways than one. 

Laney laughed, open and deep, her mind still stuck on the queer idea that a gardener would be first pick mechanic and Alec wished he could trademark responses he inspired, but he should have to settle for rising wit: “You would think the focus be on Kingpin settlin' in and all, not no car... there's many in common with being a horse's ass here, honest tha!’’ As if to prove his usefulness beyond the criticized, he impacted more dirt with his foot, intermittently smoking. 

Milly lost control and therefore interest in a conversation that did not revolve around her, she gave herself permission to recede into the background to polish some silverware that lay about. Laney chased after her and threw up the back of her skirt, only to run back outside with a victorious laugh that drowned out Milly’s complaints. 

Overwhelmed by the stuffy heat in the kitchen Laney resolved to put a rock between the door, she chanced it while Mills was distracted, leaving it ajar and letting cool air in. Milly calmed down after a moment pause, admittedly thankful for the breeze... and the opportunity to eavesdrop if she pleased. 

Looking down the stone path, Laney spotted a puddle and landed in it with a splash, achieving the relief to her burning feet she sought, thankfully her stockings remained clean. She could just make out Alec’s voice over the thunder: “So... our lady-Anne must not be immune to chocolate bribes from _poor_ Cecil then, aye?" 

"His wife be sick." Laney said purposefully, looking at Alec whose face softened instantly. It was no surprise to either that Anne would not reject an appeal to empathy and yet they had never seen any help leave the premises early. Laney had known Anne to be a little empty headed at times, but she was certainly proving to be the least empty hearted of the Durhams. 

Alec dropped his head down, and Laney thought to asses his progress, decidedly willing to escalate it by discarding the last of the mangled plants to the wheelbarrow in hopes he'd go back to holding his head up. 

He did, but he spoke low, "Whot? Why didn't he...? Ah, shite...do we know what or how bad it be?" 

Laney shook her head, which must have jostled a memory, she remembered fondly, "...thinking hard on tha time Cecil told 'er about me dog passing...and the next day he come with a batch o' cookies she baked to 'cheer me', though the girl never so much as laid eyes on me..." 

Alec's sad smile confirmed the memory. "Good folks...them two..." 

His heart was taking over: ‘’Well… I sure stepped in it this morn; I was a right knob to ‘im.’’ He kicked at the shovel then ran a hand over his face, sighing, ‘’I sensed he wanted to talk and I just brushed him off…" 

Feeling guilty he made a mental note in his mind to make it up to Cecil soon with a round at the pub or some such social pick-me-up. Note number two told him to get his mind out of Mr. Hall’s gutter, and suddenly he was struck with contempt for jumping in deep enough that his head nearly went under. 

Laney looked back from surveying. "Don’t think he took it personally," she said reassuringly, plucking a few leaves from a yew and taking a step further onto the grass to get closer to Alec, who was now visibly frowning. 

She turned the leaves in her hand, then gave Alec a friendly shoulder punch as her thoughts drew further: "Being honest, many could give yah a break minding yer inevitable distraction; head so already in the Argentine—but hells bells if I do!’’ 

She defied anyone that minded themselves more important than the present moment. The leaves fell to the wet ground and her punches graduated in strength as she cautioned, ‘’Don’t think I won't box yer ears real good and yank yer head right outter yer arse!" 

Alec rubbed his arm, ‘’Ahh—box me ears but spare me arms! Lord hear it!‘’ 

Milly could see her reflection as she looked down at the spoon she was polishing. She muttered under her breath, ‘’Why he tolerates such a...’’ 

The blank she had filled in the first day she met Laney; who thought the proper way to break the ice was to literally throw snow in Milly’s direction while they had their first break together, intended to allow a smoke. 

Milly’s haste decidedly drew up Laney as too presumptuous for her own good. She was cold in her calculations, the slip into her own insecurity preventing any grip on the true nature of Laney and Alec’s relationship. 

The sky came undone, and the rain began to fall just hard enough to stir faint scents and sounds as it danced on the rooftop. Alec dug his foot into the grass moodily, though every part of him was appreciative for Laney’s tough love. His eyes followed the wind as it rustled through tress. He half wanted to tell a lot of people to go _up_ one of those trees and not do him or Cecil any favours, but bitterness is a paralytic any could do without, especially one who was set to journey... 

He chose not to fight Laney’s allegations, and looking up, nodded duly. The servant bell rang from the kitchen, he was somewhat glad for it. 

Far be it for them to want peace. The night was closing in, they could at least be delivered to the warm familiarity of their personal lives. The question was when? Laney asked, but Alec suggested she go on ahead home when she could, not too sure of whether his heart or Durham would delegate and delay. With that Laney headed inside, as she walked past Milly she was compelled to say, ‘’Well, the best of British to you, with the pianer and all, _Ms. Petticoat_... I has lady Anne’s clothes to lay out.’’ 

Though Milly knew she would not be tasked to take up the piano by virtue of being dainty and a woman, she still yelled after Laney sharply, "Whot makes me any more a piano-mule than you? Silly slag!" 

Laney would not dignify it with a response as she shut the door. Their feud spiced the air, Alec’s throat burned in want of seasoning the entire Pendersleigh house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get _sharp_ with me, or _keyed_ up if a good piano pun isn't _music_ to your ears, ahem. The great Alfred Hitchcock once said, "Puns are the highest form of literature."
> 
> I can truly see Alec having a quirky cornball sense of humour. 
> 
> * avec hâte = with haste


	7. The Second Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We had to ring twice. **Twice**."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7; 7th heaven? Well, maybe just because of the chocolate. Doubly fitting as this chapter is short and sweet! ;-)

Looking up and down at a clearly peeved Milly, Alec found himself unable to resist: "Your knickers is really in some knot ever since you seed me warm to yer cousin, hmm?" 

Milly's arrogance begged she ignore it, though she was fully aware there was more than one rival on the scene and she was running out of time. 

With Laney gone she wasted no time returning to what she felt was her proper place.

She jumped the step and plodded toward Alec, clearly unlike Laney and not at all one with the grass and rain, making a face each step and lifting her feet like a cat to water. However she was still very intent on impressing. 

She refused to take responsibility for the sudden tension in Alec's posture. He was a little turned off by her ability to shut down the emotional barometer, obvious after what had been revealed about Cecil's wife...

Dirt had been hitchhiking on Alec's jacket and she brushed it off him as if it was a personal affront to her, so engrossed she barely felt Alec trying to pull back as she dragged him—now passably clean—toward the kitchen, his tools left to the ground as she said, "Oh, you can't go in looking like yah been rolling in it with the dogs...though, I wouldn't mind a roll or 2 later..." 

Alec pretended he did not hear her, kicking as much mud off his boots as he could at the step before he entered the kitchen. The rock from the door met his boot next and the door slammed with more strength than anticipated. 

Milly flinched. Alec shrugged. With a shake of her head she laughed and turned to _boop_ Alec on the nose, before righting his collar rather patronizingly. Then with the rag she had previously draped over the top of the chair she attempted to dab the moisture from Alec's coat, but the dampness which seeped into his pores was only reachable from the inside out.

Alec averted his gaze, and when Milly tried to put her arms around his neck, leaning in to kiss him, he wouldn't have it. 

"Oh, we aren't friends now?" Milly pouted. Alec might have found it cute, had he not began to discover without empathy or wit, beauty was simply vanity, and the way things were going in his mind he thought it prudent to exercise a little self control. 

Alec took a step forward, forcing Milly to detach and move back. 

"Just...knackered... no mood for it..." He deduced, darkly. Who was he kidding? It sent the Gods above into a thunderous uproar. He could not subscribe to his brother’s belief that his future prospects meant he must forfeit his right to be frivolous, and yet...

"Not… in the mood...?’’ Milly was shocked, throwing her hands up, questioning, ‘’Who are you and what have you done with Alec Scudder?!" 

Alec did not know how to answer that, Milly hadn't really known him beyond his body - it never bothered him before. He narrowly understood his own departure of values, all he knew was that he hated being looked at like he had the plague at the moment.

“Ahh, I’m no ponce, luv... _really_...Cecil on the brain now and such...it’s nothin’ a kip can’t cure,“ he said it to persuade himself, mostly. 

Milly should have to resort to other measures. She unwrapped the chocolate she had kept hidden in a place she would never admit, the same chocolate she stole from Cecil in anticipation for such a moment; she would make a show of eating it in front of a clearly famished Alec. 

‘’Simcox really did some number on you earlier, hmm?”

Alec blinked. “...hardly. The old coot likes to think he's an edge, but he’s harmless... like someone else I knows...” 

Alec's exposure to Simcox was limited to circumstances like today, when he assumed higher authority in Durham's stead. If they had seen—known more of each other it would not have mattered, Simcox really was too self-centered to validate or even contemplate anyone's motivations but his own, such that he failed to realize that work which kept Alec’s motor running into overdrive was not only habitual, but therapeutic. His delegation of such, which was really just him passing word for Ayres, had done more good to Alec than harm, though the tasks may have been tedious and menial, at the end of the day Alec took great pride in anything he did.

Milly pressed, “Well…I’ve just the universal cure for anyone and anything, whatever it may be... in the mood for _this_?’’ She said deceivingly sweet, dragging a delectable piece over her lips. Bribery at its finest.

The rain gained strength, it came at the windows hard.

Instinctively stimulated, Alec went to grab the chocolate, but Milly held it above her head, then behind her back and teased, ‘’ _Nuh uh_ —no fair unless _I_ get something in return.’’

Alec lunged with a grunt, but Milly managed to run to the opposite end of the table, giggling, ‘’Come on, if you want a taste,” her tongue swirled around a square, “…give _us_ a kiss.” 

Alec appeared totally unmoved, but eventually felt the old lust bite and gave in. Was it that he wanted to kick the sadness he felt for Cecil, or that he craved Milly? Maybe he did not like to see food go to waste...or was it really that Hall’s name fermented his tongue with an unbearably singular bitterness he needed to be rid of? 

He ran over and scooped Milly up from behind; she kicked and squirmed and nearly toppled the silverware she was cleaning on the table, until Alec planted a kiss on her cheek—noise of the scuffle alerting the cook who was helping another hand tidy up in the adjacent dining room.

“There’s a good girl. Now. My _reward_ ,” Alec said expectantly, releasing Milly slowly, who when freed backed away with her tongue out, saying, “The kiss _was_ yer reward.” 

Then the bell stung their ears again, were they dogs always to be corralled? 

Plan foiled, Milly frowned. 

" _Feck_...well...I'll go first before they come with the crop," she insisted, feeling rather out of breath anyway, walking defeated, toward the door. She turned just as she reached it, "You come in after sos it won't look like we've been in _it_." She winked at Alec and threw him the chocolate, he caught it, thought on it and put it straight in his pocket. 

His hunger had nothing to do with food.


End file.
